


Deja You

by andtheyfightcrime



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e08 I Will Remember You, F/M, Gen, Multi, The Scooby Gang (BtVS)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andtheyfightcrime/pseuds/andtheyfightcrime
Summary: Buffy runs into a vengeance demon and an unexpected wish is made. Hijinks ensue as Buffy, the Scoobies and Giles race to foil Spike's plan to get the Gem of Amara. Meanwhile in Los Angeles, Angel ponders the aftermath of Buffy's wish and if it even matters.
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 29
Collections: I Will Remember You





	1. no one gave a warning to the breaking of your heart

She had to impress the boss. It was her first assignment and she knew D’Hoffryn was expecting her to fail. She had been a transfer from the fifth circle, and everyone knew that the new boss was always harder on transfers. It was a test of loyalty.

Minerva had always been good at tests. She would not fail this one.

She scanned her itinerary. “UC Sunnydale. Freshman girl. Name of Buffy Summers.”

That name sounded oddly familiar, but she brushed it off. She was in California after all. There were probably tons of Buffys wandering around.

She fished a mirror out of her pocket and checked her appearance. Shiny black hair. Tastefully applied neutral eyeshadow highlighting her brown eyes, and the slightest hint of blush emphasizing her high cheekbones. She smacked her lips experimentally. Pink lip gloss, not too sticky.

“All right, Minnie Chau. Let’s get the girl.”

Buffy tried not to meet the bartender’s gaze as she scurried toward the back of the bar. Why was she punishing herself? It was stupid. Parker wasn’t going to be there, and she knew he was a jerk, so why was she hoping to run into him?

“Because I’m stupid,” she muttered. “Stupid Buffy and her terrible taste in men.”

She sat down and opened her backpack. She had two exams to study for and a notebook full of Buffy scrawl to decipher into legible notes. Her love life might be in shambles, no shocking surprise there, but at least her academic life stood a fighting chance.

She could have done this in her dorm, but Willow would be there, with her perfectly color-coded notes and eager countenance – thanks Mom for the word of the day calendar – and her sympathetic ear for Buffy’s Parker related issues. As much as she loved Willow, this was a time where she wanted to mope without feeling guilty that she was bringing Willow down. Willow, who was blossoming in her college bubble, with Oz at her side.

Buffy sighed and opened her Ancient Civilizations textbook.

Minnie walked through the student union, casually glancing at every girl that walked by. She could read their emotions at a glance. It was the usual mix of anxiety and insecurity interspersed with some bright spots of confidence and contentment. None of them had the unique emotional signature that she sought. She had a list of residence halls and Buffy’s class schedule printed out, but she preferred to work more intuitively.

Where would a girl named Buffy be likely to hang out?

A crowd of fraternity boys came toward her, talking loudly and jostling amongst themselves. “We should go to the bar later. It’s two-for-one shots at happy hour.”

“I could kill for their wings. That hot sauce? Whew.”

“I know the bartender. He can get us free fries.”

“Awesome, man. See you there in an hour.”

She smiled. A bar. Of course.

Buffy wrote a sentence and then glanced down at her work. She had copied the same sentence three times. She groaned and reached for her eraser.

Her brain and her body were clearly not on speaking terms anymore. It had been what – she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall – only half an hour. Her concentration must have fled in the last five minutes.

She erased the repeated sentences, then scowled as she tore a hole in the paper.

Her books carefully spread out in a fan shape on the table suddenly moved.

“I’m sorry. Could I sit here? All the other tables are taken,” came a soft voice.

Buffy looked up and saw an Asian girl standing by her table. She looked around, and she was right – all the other tables were full of people.

She didn’t really want company, but she also didn’t want to be a table hog.

“Sure. Let me just clear off my books.”

“Thank you so much,” the girl said. “I’m Minnie, by the way.”

“Hi. I’m Buffy.”

The other girl smiled shyly at her. “Hi, Buffy. I’m new.”

“Are you a freshman too?”

“Oh, I’m a junior. I just transferred here a week ago.”

“Really? Wow. I bet it’s been overwhelming.”

Minnie shrugged. “A little. But I like the challenge.”

“Cool. Well, welcome to Sunnydale.”

“Thanks.”

Minnie bought them a round of drinks and two chocolate cookies, both of which she gave to Buffy.

Buffy protested, “No, it’s fine.”

Minnie shook her head. “It’s a thank you for sharing your table and being nice to me. Besides, they’re fresh from the microwave.”

“I guess a cookie break wouldn't be too bad,” Buffy said. She took a cookie and looked at her drink. “What are these again?”

“White Russians. They go great with chocolate.”

“I shouldn’t really drink,” Buffy said doubtfully. “I don’t have the greatest track record.”

“Bad hangovers?”

Buffy paused. Evil fraternity brothers who worshipped a snake cult and tried to date rape her and Cordelia seemed a bit much to spring on a total stranger.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh,” Minnie looked crestfallen. “One’s my limit and…”

“No, wait. It’s fine. One drink won’t hurt. Besides, it’s not beer.”

Buffy raised the glass to her lips. It smelled sweet. She took a cautious sip and then broke out into a smile. “It tastes like iced coffee!”

She took another, longer sip. “Oh, this is good. Great choice, Minnie.”

Buffy wasn’t sure who brought up the topic of dating first. Maybe it was her, maybe it was Minnie. But three White Russians later, Minnie was nodding along and gasping, “That _bastard_ ,” when Buffy told her the story of Parker, the incredible smirking poopyhead.

“I hate guys like that,” Minnie seethed, and for a moment, Buffy thought her eyes gleamed red.

“Me too,” Buffy said. She waved her empty glass. “He’s the worst. But you know, he’s not even the tip of the iceberg. No,” she said and was distracted by the loud wallpaper that decorated the bar, “no, he’s like an ice cube. A teeny-tiny ice cube,” she pinched a space between her thumb and forefinger, “that sucked and wasn’t even any good.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “But yeah. Ice cube Parker. One of many –” Buffy frowned and shook her head. “No. Not many. But you know me,” she gestured with the glass, “I’m just like that boat. Bobbing along on the waves, minding my own business, and then bam,” she smacked the glass with the palm of her hand. “My battleship sunk.”

“You’re the Titanic?” Minnie peered at her with one eye open. Her cheeks were a rosy red.

“Yep. Titanic Buffy. Sunk by the biggest iceberg of them all.”

“Who was this boy?”

“Not a boy,” Buffy hiccupped. “A – guy. A man. A really, tall good-looking guy –” her voice cracked, and she laid her head on the table. “Who’s stupid.”

“Tell me more,” Minnie said sympathetically. This was it, the big score, she thought. At first, she had been ready to unleash painful sores in embarrassingly public places for this Parker character, but the wave of sorrow that Buffy just emitted was like a homing beacon. Whoever it was, he permeated Buffy’s skin.

“Stupid guy who wants me to be happy,” Buffy sniffed. “Always making my choices for me because he’s older and lived a hundred lives, blah blah.”

“Oh honey,” Minnie said with genuine sympathy. “I’ve been there. Mine was a professor. Who stole my research and then got me expelled.” Her nostrils flared. “But I took care of him.”

“He just left,” Buffy said quietly. “Like it meant nothing like we just saved the world and he was finished with me.”

“Who was he?”

Buffy sat up, her eyes misty. “Angel.”

“Was he religious?” Minnie pursed her lips. The religious guys were always extra freaky.

“Irish Catholic,” Buffy said. “That’s what he told me, but that doesn’t matter.”

Ah, Catholics. She’d have to plan something really dramatic. Maybe make it rain frogs in his home or something similar.

“And what do you want to happen to Angel?”

“Nothing,” Buffy said. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “He’s cursed enough as it is, but sometimes I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him.”

Her eyes teared up again. “I hate this. I hate feeling like this like I’ll never move on.”

Minnie leaned forward. “Is there something he really loves? Like a car, perhaps?”

“I wish,” Buffy said vehemently. “I wish I could forget Angel and just not have to feel like this anymore.”

“Huh. I did not expect that. I thought you’d go for something more classic, like an exploding heart. But hey, you said the magic words.”

“What?” Buffy looked confused.

Minnie grinned, and let her true face show. She snapped her fingers while holding onto the amulet she’d hidden underneath her clothes. “Wish granted,” she said in a gravelly voice, then vanished.

Buffy walked to her dorm, her head slightly fuzzy. There was something she was missing, but she wasn’t sure what. She had fallen asleep at the bar, which was embarrassing, but at least she hadn’t drooled on the table. There had been a half-eaten cookie by her head. It was still warm, so she finished it and wrapped up the second cookie for Willow.

“Hi Will,” she said as she entered their dorm. “I got my notes done and I think I’m ready for your pop quiz.”

Willow spun around in her computer chair and clapped her hands with glee. “That’s great. I made flashcards!”

“Just another wild and crazy night,” Buffy grinned. “Quiz me.”

She felt lighter somehow. It was odd, but it sort of felt like getting a haircut and having the weight lifted right off her shoulders. Buffy reached up in a panic and felt the same long tresses she went to bed with. Okay, so she hadn’t been visited by the impromptu hair cut fairy.

Buffy flung her arms up and stretched her legs to the sky. This feeling – she felt good. Free and ready to face the morning. She hopped out of bed.

The good mood lasted through lunch and Professor Walsh’s class. Willow noticed it when Buffy greeted their TA with a sunny smile. “Bye, Riley!”

He actually blushed. “Bye, Buffy.”

Willow nudged her as they walked to their next class. “You’re in a chipper mood today.”

“I just feel really…happy. It’s weird, isn’t it? But it’s a good weird.” Buffy hugged her textbooks. “Like, the whole day is full of possibilities and I just have to get them.”

“I love those kinds of days,” Willow said. “Everything feels possible and you just know you’re going to have the best day ever.”

“Exactly,” Buffy said. “Come at me, world. I can take you.”

Willow laughed. It was a relief that Buffy had regained her cheerful personality. She knew Parker wouldn’t drag her best friend down forever.

“You should have seen her, Oz. She was smiling and I swear I saw her skipping to one of her classes. She’s finally back to her old Buffy self.” Willow said over the telephone.

“That is good news. I was worried about her. Guys like Parker –” Oz made a sound of disgust.

“Agreed.”

Willow twirled the telephone cord around her finger, suddenly feeling mischievous.

“Say, Oz?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you wearing right now?”

A pause, and then Oz’s soft chuckle.

“That t-shirt you got me for my last birthday.”

“Can I come over?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Willow promised.

Buffy was doing her homework when Willow returned. She looked up briefly and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Had fun with Oz?” Buffy said teasingly.

“How-how did you know?” Willow looked down at her clothes. She had buttoned all the buttons correctly. Was it her hair? She patted her head.

Buffy laughed. “I guessed.” She tapped her pencil on her desk. “You have Oz-face. Big giddy smile. And your hair’s all flat on the back of your head.”

“I felt weird about sleeping over because his roommate came back early,” Willow admitted sheepishly. “Oz-face. I like that. Like how you had Angel-face,” she trailed off.

Buffy had turned her attention back to her homework. “Hmmm?”

“Nothing,” Willow said. “I’m going to brush my teeth and turn in for the night.”

“’Kay,” Buffy said. “I’m going to patrol later. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Buffy.”

Fortuitous was the word of the day, and Buffy rolled it around on her tongue. Fortuitous. Sounded like fortune. Maybe today would be an extra lucky day.

It was – the cafeteria had mango frozen yogurt, she breezed through her exams, and she had time to have ice cream and a gossip session with Willow.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Buffy sat on her bed; her legs crossed in front of her. She flipped idly through a magazine. Willow rolled over on her bed and sighed. “Going home to see my parents. One of the kids I went to Jewish camp with is in town and my mom thinks it would be nice to have a reunion.”

“You went to Jewish camp?”

“Yeah. Up until I was twelve. Then I said I was allergic to the glue that they used in the handicrafts, and I got to hang out with Xander all summer instead.”

“What was that like? Jewish camp, I mean.”

“It was good – lots of sports and games. Swimming. I liked the indoor stuff better – because, hello, super pale here – “Willow waved her arm. “Ten minutes and I’d be a broiled critter. At night we’d have singing circles. There’d be two counselors playing guitars and we’d all clap along.”

“Sounds straight out of a Judy Blume novel,” Buffy said. “I kind of wished I had something like that.”

“It was nice being around other Jewish people,” Willow said. “I mean, not that I don’t like hanging out with you and Xander. And Oz.” Her voice took on a dreamy quality. “But Camp Haverim was something special.”

“It sounds like it. Who’s this friend from Jewish camp? Should I be jealous?” Buffy said jokingly.

Willow laughed. “No way. Miriam Sofer? She spoke maybe ten words to me the whole time we were there. But you know my mom – she’s friends with Miriam’s mom. I think Professor Sofer is listed in her acknowledgments.”

“So it’s an ‘our moms are friends so obviously we have to be friends too’ situation?”

“Pretty much. We didn’t really connect. She liked different stuff than I did and was not shy about telling me how weird I was.”

“Aw, Will.”

“Pfft. It’s fine. I’ve got you and we do this super important thing. Miriam can’t say she’s saved the world from the ravenous forces of hell. I mean, yeah, she’s doing cancer research but –”

“Got it. Miriam is nowhere as cool as you are.”

“Damn right she’s not.”

Buffy grinned. “Does your mom still think my name’s Bunny?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “No. She thinks you’re called Betty now.”

“I guess that’s better?”

Willow snorted. “She called Xander Andy up until fourth grade.”

“What changed that year?”

Willow smiled. “Xander told Harmony off in the school parking lot for making fun of me, and my mom heard. So then it was Alexander after that.”

“Speaking of Xander, we need to hang. I know there are more stories from the wilds of Barstow that he hasn’t told us.”

“That’s a good idea. I think he’s going stir crazy in his parents’ basement.”

“If you’re going home – I could swing by my house too. We can meet up at the Bronze.”

“Ooo. I’ll call him.”

Buffy put her magazine aside and listened to her best friend chattering away with her other best friend. There was a comfortable familiarity about it all – so far, college was like high school, only with better food and the weighty realization she was responsible for her own life. Well, aside from the Slayer destiny. But here, she didn’t have her mother reminding her to wake up on time, she could eat whatever she wanted for breakfast and the added bonus of living with Willow. It was nice. She could make it through the next four years, easy.

When Buffy arrived at the Bronze, there was already a line forming outside. The Bronze had remodeled, again, and a mix of regulars and new people were taking advantage of the temporarily free cover charge. As the bouncer waved her through, she spotted Xander, who had staked out a couch. His bright orange bowling shirt functioned as a homing signal.

She wove through the crowd and sat down next to him. “Hiya stranger.”

“Buff. How goes the learning?” He smiled lopsidedly at her.

“Oh, you know. Pretty much like it always does. I haven’t fallen asleep in any of my classes yet.” She looked around. “Is Willow here?”

“Yeah, she came by with Oz. Dingoes are doing a surprise gig. She’s getting drinks right now.”

“So what’s up with you? How’s life as a working adult?”

“If you could call being number two fry cook at Taco Tony’s a life, it could be worse, I guess.” Xander shrugged. “They let me take home the left-over burritos and salsa though, so it’s not all bad.”

“That’s a food group,” Buffy said. “You got your meat, your vegetables, your dairy…”

“And the secret recipe for Tony’s carne asada, which I’m sure will come in handy.” Xander slung his arm around her shoulders. “But really. I’m glad to see you.”

“Same. I’ve just been so busy – I mean, all of us have been busy. But you know, between moving in, and all that roommate stuff and…in general. It’s nice to just hang out and not think about it.”

“Hear, hear.” Xander raised his hand in an invisible toast. “I’ll drink to that. Eventually, when Willow comes back with our drinks.”

“So. Any funny work stories?”

“Oh boy. Let me tell you about this time Tito – that’s the number one fry cook by the way, got into it with a customer over refried beans…”

Willow narrowly avoided running into a couple enthusiastically grinding against each other, as she maneuvered her way back to the sitting area. The drinks sloshed around but she managed to steady the tray.

She walked over to Xander and Buffy, who was in the middle of a debate.

“That’s blasphemy,” Xander repeated. He drummed his fingers on his knee. Buffy rolled her eyes. “It is not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Buff. The green M&M is clearly the superior M&M.”

“All of them taste the same. And no, yellow is better. With peanut.”

“You’re so wrong, you’re in another country. Tell her, Willow.”

“I have no stake in this conversation,” Willow said, as she set the drinks down on the table. She squeezed in next to Xander. “What are we arguing about?”

“Buffy thinks peanut M&M’s are better than the classic M&M. For pure chocolate satisfaction? You get less chocolate! There’s a peanut in the way.”

“He has a point, Buffy.” Willow handed her a drink.

“It’s still chocolate,” Buffy argued. “And anyway, the peanut is just extra protein.”

“It’s a distraction. Give me solid chocolate or give me…pizza. Pizza trumps chocolate.”

“Now look who’s wrong,” Buffy said. “It does not.”

“This is so great,” Willow enthused. “Feels like old times. Without the sense of impending doom.”

Buffy and Xander looked at each other and laughed. “As usual, Willow is the voice of reason,” Xander declared.

Buffy settled back into the couch. “I don’t know, guys. Senior year was rough, but I didn’t think it was _that_ bad. We survived, after all.”

“Uh…you’re joking, right?” Xander said. “I can count at least five terrible things, one of them being Spanish with Señor Lowell.”

“Okay, so the school blew up, the Mayor turned into a giant snake, Snyder got eaten, the whole Faith thing,” Buffy trailed off at the mention of the other Slayer’s name. “Almost getting burnt at the stake.”

“You hearing everyone’s thoughts and Jonathan almost going Columbine on us,” Xander said. “Oh, and one more little thing –” he motioned at Buffy’s neck.

“What?” Buffy self-consciously rubbed the scar at the curve of her neck. She had noticed it earlier when she was showering. The skin was pale and raised, and she felt a twinge as her fingers pressed against it.

“Buffy,” Willow said gently. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it was pretty traumatic when we saw you in the hospital after Angel bit you.”

Buffy looked blankly at her. “Who’s Angel?”

Xander burst into laughter.

“Now I _know_ you’re kidding,” Xander said. “Angel? He of the hair and brooding? Your undead ex? Not fun at parties?”

“This isn’t funny,” Buffy said crossly. “I don’t know any Angel. And I wouldn’t be dating a vampire. That’s insane. Goes against my whole job description.”

Xander’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a good point. I’ve always thought so.”

“ _Xander_ ,” Willow said warningly. She glanced at Buffy. “Are you okay? Did anything happen on patrol last night – like you fell and hit your head?”

“Nothing happened. I did my usual sweep, dusted a couple of credit card dealer vamps, and then went back to our room.” Buffy looked at her strangely.

“So everything’s normal. No headaches? Out of body experiences?”

“I’m _fine_ , Will. What’s wrong with you two?”

“Oh we’re peachy,” Xander grinned. “Just enjoying this beautiful night out with my beautiful best friends.”

Willow tapped him on the arm. “Xander,” she said. “We need snacks. Why don’t you come and help me?”

He waved at her dismissively. “Nah, Will. You don’t need me. I trust your tray balancing skills.”

She grabbed his collar and gave it a swift tug. “No. I think I need your help,” she said, emphasizing the last word.

“Uh, okay,” Xander said as Willow flashed him her Resolve Face. He scrambled off the couch.

“Be right back, Buffy. We’ll get you your usual.”

“I’ll hold down the couch.”

“Okay, Willow,” Xander said as they stood in line for snacks. “What was that back there?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Willow said. “Don’t you think something strange is going on?”

“I think you’re overreacting. Buffy seems fine.”

“You think she ran into a temporary amnesia demon?” Willow pulled out her wallet as they neared the line.

“I mean, I bet good money that if something like that existed, it would be here.”

Xander pulled out his own wallet. “Here, I’ll pay for half.”

“Are you sure? I know you’re paying rent ---”

“I can spring for some chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks for my friends,” Xander said. “Being the grill guy at Taco Tony’s pays _some_ money.”

He tried to sound blasé about it, but Willow knew he was embarrassed. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’ll find something better soon. And it’s okay. I don’t know what I’m going to do either. After all of this…”

“You’ll leave and be a big shot in a big city somewhere,” Xander said. “Dazzling the world in that Willow way.”

He smiled at her, and Willow felt a pure rush of affection for him. “You’ll get there too. I believe in you.”

Xander ducked his head but she knew he was pleased. He lifted his head to wink at her. “Sure. I’ll be the Ben Affleck to your Matt Damon. Only much, much better looking.”

They walked back to their couch, Xander holding a tray full of chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks, while Willow held a basket of soft pretzels.

The sight of another person sitting with Buffy stopped them in their tracks. Xander mumbled, “Crap.”

“Is that Anya?” Willow said.

As if she had been summoned, Anya turned to look at them. She lit up at the sight of Xander. “Xander! Come here. I was talking to Buffy about you.”

“Oh _God_ ,” Xander said and hurried over.

Buffy had a glazed look in her eyes as she turned to Willow and mouthed “Thank you,” as they sat down. Anya moved to sit on the armrest by Xander. “Fancy running into you here,” she said brightly. “I was just telling Buffy about my day. And you.”

“Ahn,” Xander laughed weakly. “Did you remember our conversation about private things?”

“Oh yes,” Anya said. “I did not tell your friend about how impressive you are in bed.”

Buffy choked on her drink, and Willow handed her a wad of napkins. Xander pinched the bridge of his nose. “Exactly, Anya. Thank you.”

“I went to your house, and your mother said you were here. I saw Buffy and thought it would be nice to hang out. Like friends do.”

“That’s great,” Xander said. “I’m sure everyone wants to get to know you better. Right guys?” He gave them a beseeching look.

Buffy, recovered from her coughing fit, nodded quickly. “Oh. Yes. Totally. Anya’s just full of stories.”

“Fun appropriate stories,” Willow muttered.

Xander was saved from replying when the house lights dimmed. The PA system crackled to life, and the announcement that Dingoes Ate My Baby would take the stage in five minutes inspired a rousing cheer.

“I never get tired of this part,” Willow said excitedly, her good mood restored.

Oz stepped from behind the curtain and nodded at them. “Just a mic check.”

Willow waved, and he smiled widely.

“You guys are too cute,” Buffy said.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Are we being gross?” Willow was immediately contrite.

Buffy laughed. “No. I think it’s really sweet.”

Anya looped her arm around Xander’s and leaned in to talk to him. “I have a question.”

“Yeah, Ahn?”

“When did your friend meet a vengeance demon? I can see the magic residue all over her.”

Xander pulled Anya outside, away from the noisy crowd. “What did you say?”

“Your friend Buffy. She has been granted a wish. I can tell.” Anya looked back at the Bronze. “Are we not going back to dance?”

“In a minute. What do you mean, she has been granted a wish?”

Anya’s mouth twisted into an annoyed moue. “What I _said_. Buffy made a wish, it was granted, and I can see the other demon’s aura. It’s like a signature on a contract. It’s only visible to other vengeance demons. It’s so the wisher doesn’t get another wish right away. We’re not genies.”

The puzzle pieces clicked together in Xander’s mind. “Angel. That’s what happened. Buffy made a wish about him.”

“Who is this Angel?”

“I’ll catch you up later. I gotta tell Willow about this.”

Anya frowned. “I picked this outfit specifically for you to notice me. It took me an hour, Xander. And I curled my hair. Why aren’t we dancing?”

She dragged her finger down his chest suggestively. “Because I was thinking, we could do the _other_ kind of dancing afterward. Or now, if you want.”

He really should tell Willow. On the other hand, Anya smelled so good. Not in his wildest fantasies did he factor in a woman like Anya being interested in him. Going out of her way to be interested in him, even. He would be a fool to turn her down. It wasn’t like the information was super important – he would call Willow in the morning, he decided.

Xander lifted Anya’s hand and kissed it. “Only if you want.”

She smiled. “Let’s go.”


	2. hey I've been falling apart these days

A sense of restlessness kicked in for Buffy three songs into the Dingoes set. Xander had disappeared with Anya, and Willow was bouncing around the front of the stage as she locked gazes with Oz. There was a brief smile on his face, which meant they were getting hot and heavy later. Buffy took the last pretzel and grabbed Willow’s purse. She walked around the edges of the swaying crowd, and discreetly elbowed her way to the front. Willow turned around with a soft exclamation, then grinned at her. Buffy held out her purse. “I’m calling it a night,” she said. “Xander bailed and I’m feeling antsy.”

“Oz is going to drive me back to campus later. We can wait for you if you want?”

“You guys can go ahead. I’m going to stay over tonight and take the bus to school tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. See you later.” Willow drew her in for a hug.

“See you. Tell Oz I really liked song number two.”

“You got it.”

It seemed silly, but Buffy found herself walking up to the familiar gates of Restfield. As usual, the gate was wide open. “Tomb sweet tomb,” Buffy said out loud, then looked around, as if she expected a vampire to erupt from behind a headstone.

None appeared, and she slipped into her familiar beat. Patrolling the campus was fine, but it just couldn’t match the atmosphere of a cemetery. She shook her head. It was one thing to be homesick, but to be graveyard sick? At least Giles would appreciate her work ethic.

She started counting headstones to pass the time before she heard a rustling in the bushes. Buffy slid the stake out of her sleeve and crept closer. The bushes shook again, then a cat darted out.

She sighed. If Restfield was quiet, it was likely that the smaller cemeteries were quiet too.

The lights were already out when she arrived home. She remembered her mother telling her she went to bed earlier now that she knew Buffy was safe at school. Well, as safe as any young woman could be, even one with supernatural strength on her side. She should have been able to spot a predator like Parker from a mile off, and she frowned. It was annoying how he kept turning up like a bad penny in her thoughts. Now that she had time to think, everything he did was clearly calculated. Yet she had fallen for it, and she squirmed uncomfortably at the memory of him kissing her. And doing other things – her brain rebelled firmly. So not going over that again, she chastised herself.

It was like she said to – to someone. Was it Willow? Probably. The sex had been short and adequate – not necessarily bad, but neither was it earth moving. She had been willing to go for another round, but Parker had fallen asleep. Really, the only positive about the experience was that it hadn’t hurt. There’d be other guys. Hopefully.

She’d just be more careful next time.

She changed into her pajamas and took off her jewelry – she had dressed up a little more than usual for the Bronze and had accessorized accordingly. Off came the chunky rings and the delicate silver necklace. She hung the necklace on her jewelry tree and noticed another silver necklace with a simple cross attached to it. It didn’t look familiar, yet when she touched it, she had the strangest feeling that it was special to her. It couldn’t have been a present from her parents – Dad preferred to give her money when he remembered, and Mom was a lapsed Episcopalian and didn’t believe in wearing religious symbols around her neck.

She shrugged and let it go.

Willow got back to her dorm at midnight, her lips still tingling from Oz’s good night kiss. It was a perfect end to a pretty good day – Miriam had managed not to bring up her internship more than once, her mom had actually asked about her studies, and hanging out with Xander and Buffy really did feel like their high school days. The good parts, not the terrifying ones soaked in murder and fear. Even though it was only a few months ago, it felt like a different life. She was a different Willow, confident college Willow, in love and loved, living with her best friend.

She couldn’t wait to tell Buffy about it. Except she shouldn’t. Willow faltered, remembering Buffy’s too cheery demeanor. There was definitely something going on with her best friend and gushing about Oz seemed unimportant in the big-picture scheme of things. Not that she wanted Buffy to be unhappy and over Parker, of all people – but the more she thought about it, Buffy’s sudden turn to Pollyanna seemed…askew. And the forgetting of Angel? That was definitely out of the ordinary – and she couldn’t sense any insincerity from Buffy – she really didn’t know Angel. What else did she forget? Was this a time-lapse sort of deal, and she would forget them as well? Willow clutched her comforter. This deserved a Scooby research party. She’d call Xander in the morning.

The insistent ringing of his phone woke Xander up. He rolled over and blinked owlishly at the numbers on his clock. “Too early,” he mumbled but reached out for the receiver.

“I hope you know I’m not here,” he yawned.

“I think Buffy’s under a spell from an amnesia demon,” Willow blurted out. “Or a curse. It’s probably a curse.”

“Morning, Will.” Xander rubbed his eyes. “I meant to call you.”

“Good morning. Okay, so I’m thinking Scooby meeting – without Buffy, at Giles’s today?”

“Or not? I know what it is. Anya told me last night. Buffy made a wish with a vengeance demon. It must have involved Angel.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anya said she could see magic residue all over Buffy, which, gross. But that’s the explanation. Buffy made the wish, so there’s not a curse.”

“But that doesn’t sound like something she’d do.”

“C’mon. You saw her at the end. Angel put her through the wringer. She was probably holding onto it and couldn’t deal anymore.”

“I still think it’s suspicious,” Willow grumbled. “And I still think we should talk to Giles about it.”

“Can we get food first? My brain needs food.”

“If you come to the campus cafeteria, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Done. I want a burger and fries.”

“See you in a bit,” Willow said and hung up.

Willow was squirting ketchup in little paper cups when Xander arrived. He nodded at the ketchup dispenser. “You’d think with all the money they rake in; you could get bottles of ketchup at every table.”

“Yeah. I think some frats abused that privilege a while ago so now we’re stuck using these. I’m sitting over there,” and she motioned at a nearby table. Xander took some cups from Willow’s stockpile and walked over to the table.

Two wrapped burgers and a large basket for fries were already on the table, along with drinks. Xander sat down and unwrapped a burger. Willow returned with the rest of the cups. He raised an eyebrow at the amount. “Gee, Willow, you think you have enough ketchup?”

She made a face at him. “This is a perfectly normal amount of ketchup.”

“Uh-huh. So tell me where Buffy forgetting Angel is a bad thing?” Xander snagged a french fry from the basket.

Willow frowned. “Because it’s _Angel_ ,” she argued. “Buffy forgetting him is like…like the earth not turning, or the Razorbacks winning a game, or, oh! Like the Midnight Madness Movie marathon happening at 9 am in the morning. Statistically impossible.”

“Or, and bear with me here – the best thing ever.” Xander took another fry. Willow pushed the basket toward him.

“How can you say that? Angel is our—okay, he’s my friend. But Buffy loves him, and for her to wish him away? Something is wrong there.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants. We were all there for the Buffy and Angel show. The dizzying highs, the murderous lows. And I do mean that literally. Look, I don’t hate the guy –”

Willow snorted.

“I _don’t_ ,” Xander stressed. “Well. Maybe not as much as I used to. Point is, he made Buffy miserable. He broke her heart into a million little pieces and then he tried to kill her. Kill _us_. I’m not seeing the bad where she forgets him and moves on. He’s ancient history and he should stay that way.”

“I still think it’s wrong.”

“Ahn says Buffy made the wish, it was her choice. So Buffy obviously didn’t think it was wrong. And I agree with her. Just let it go, Will.”

“But Buffy doesn’t do magic stuff. She punches her feelings out,” Willow said.

“So she went to Vengeance, Incorporated. We get happy Buffy. A happy Buffy is a…not depressed Buffy. Everyone wins.”

“I don’t get why she didn’t wish for Parker to get mono or something. Poetic justice.”

“Talk about ancient history. I swear if I run into that guy.” Xander made a stabbing motion with his fry.

“You’re going to throw potatoes at him?”

It was Xander’s turn to glare. “No. I’m going to punch him in the face.”

“Punch who in the face?” Buffy’s inquiry caught them off guard. She strolled up to their table, her arms full of textbooks. “Hey, Xander. Scoot over.”

“Nobody important,” Willow said hurriedly. She raised a meaningful eyebrow at him.

“You know that’s kind of my job,” Buffy said. “Not that I condone violence unless it’s against the deserving.”

She pulled a textbook off her pile. “Like these authors. Who thought it was a good idea to assign three books for one class?”

“And once again, I stand by my decision to not pursue higher learning,” Xander said.

“Hmm. Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, but what’s with the visit? Secret Scooby meeting?”

Xander coughed. Willow whacked him on the back. “What -- what makes you think it’s a secret meeting?”

“Chill, Xander. I was joking.” Buffy looked at them in amusement. “Unless there _is_ a secret meeting.”

“Nope. No secret meeting. Xander just wanted to hang. And eat burgers.” Willow said, her voice an octave higher than normal. “Fry?”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy said, not believing her. “Gotta work on the poker face, Will. Fine, don’t tell me.”

Willow sagged with relief.

“I’ll just get it out of you later,” Buffy said with a smile. She picked up a fry and chewed on it thoughtfully. “But after I finish my reading.”

As soon as Buffy’s attention turned to her books, Willow nudged Xander under the table and mouthed, “Go call Giles,” at him.

Xander scooped up a pile of fries into a napkin. “Well, gotta go. Taco Tony’s awaits.”

“Bye, Xander,” Buffy said, not looking up from her books. “See you later?”  
“You can count on it, Buff. Bye, Will.”

Xander crammed the last of the fries in his mouth as he dialed Giles’s number in the public phone booth. Two rings then Giles picked up. “Hello?”

“Giles, it’s me,” Xander said through a mouthful of fries. He swallowed. “I mean, it’s Xander.”

“I gathered that,” Giles said dryly. “This is a nice surprise. What are you calling about?”

“Willow thinks there’s a situation going on with Buffy, I happen to disagree and you’re the tie-breaker.”

“What’s happened with Buffy?” Giles said, sounding suddenly more alert. “Is there another nest of vampires on campus?”

“No, nothing like that. Buffy got granted a wish by a vengeance demon, and she’s forgotten about Angel. Entirely. Like he’s been erased from Buffy’s big book of memories. Just whoosh.”

“Really? That’s unusual. Buffy’s not the sort to talk to demons. Well, aside from vampires.”

“Yeah, but remember? I’d say Buffy qualifies for being a scorned woman. Angel sure did a lot of scorning.”

“Be that as it may, it’s still irregular on her part.”

“You sound like Willow. She’s going on and on about how Buffy would have never done this, and blah blah Angel is our friend and all I can say is Buffy is happy. Like really happy. She’s even doing homework and studying.”

“My goodness. And you say she’s enjoying it?”

“Looked that way to me. I don’t see the big deal at all.”

“Well, Angel is still a useful ally,” Giles said slowly. “It would be foolish of us to assume that we would be able to handle all situations in Sunnydale if something on a grander scale were to occur.”

“Grander than us blowing up the high school and closing the Hellmouth and roasting our evil mayor into crispy barbecue?”

“You may have a point.”

“If we need him, you could just call him or we can light the bat signal,” Xander said. “Buffy doesn’t have to know about him.”

“And you’re certain that she’s happy?”

“Yeah. Normal happy.”

“Then I don’t think it requires further examination.”

“You agree with me?” Xander paused. “Seriously?”

“I’m as astonished as you are.”

“Willow owes me ten bucks,” Xander said happily, choosing to ignore him. “I told her this would happen one day.”

“Is there anything else, Xander?” Giles said, looking over at his newspaper. The crossword puzzle lay temptingly out of reach.

“Nope, G-Man. That was it.”

Giles sighed. “Please don’t call me that.”

Despite her best efforts, Buffy didn’t see Willow for the rest of the day. When night rolled around and Willow didn’t show up in their dorm, Buffy shrugged and went on patrol. It bothered her a little that Willow and Xander were keeping something from her – but then she had to admit that Willow and Xander had a bond that didn’t always include her. Just as she didn’t tell them everything that went on in her life, Slaying or otherwise. No one knew about all the nights she crawled through her bedroom window, tired and filthy with vampire dust on her clothes. She saved the stories for when she unequivocally – Thursday’s word – kicked ass, or where the vampire wore something really stupid. Occasionally, she got a vampire that could carry on a conversation before she staked them. Granted, it was usually along the lines of how they were going to drink her blood and make the streets erupt into chaos with the power of their undead clique. It was predictable really. Every vampire had an end of the world plan and no actual brainpower to see it through. Not that she wanted them to succeed, of course. But it was disheartening that every vampire had the same vision. No soul, no imagination.

Which brought her back to her dilemma – Buffy was bored. It had been quiet ever since she cleaned out Sunday’s crew, but there was a random vampire once in a while. Buffy found it hard to believe that the forces of evil were just idling while she attended classes. Maybe it was because UC Sunnydale wasn’t built directly over the Hellmouth but was instead adjacent to it. There probably was tapering off of evil – Buffy twirled her stake restlessly. She would settle for a minion at this rate. She had been occupied with her studies, but lately, she had been feeling – something. It was hard to pin down, but it made her skin feel too tight. Like she was growing but her body couldn’t keep up – was it a delayed Slayer burst? Was that even possible?

Maybe that was what happened when a Slayer got older – she got stronger and faster. But _still_ – and Buffy tried not to linger on that still. She was eighteen, almost nineteen. Giles said the oldest Slayer had been in her twenties. She had already beaten death once, _okay_ , maybe it was a technicality and for only a minute, but she still died. And she had felt that burst of power like she was invincible.

The new feeling was as if – she was running on concentrated Slayerness. Extra charged turbo Slayer. She had all this excess energy that needed to be set free.

All this Slayerness and no vampires in sight. Buffy sighed. Did this mean she had to get a hobby? Was there something written in Giles’s archive of diaries – oh wait. The Council had taken away all of the diaries except for the one Giles kept on her. They would have taken more of the books only Giles icily informed them that they had been inherited from his mother. Mrs. Giles must have been something fierce, as Travers had backed down.

After crisscrossing the campus twice, Buffy decided to call it a night. On her way back to Stevenson, she noticed two shadowy figures darting through the trees. She felt the familiar tingle that announced vampires were near and grinned. Finally.

“I’m telling you, I don’t feel right about this,” Vampire One complained. “They say there’s a Slayer who lives here.”

“Whatever. Who heard of a Slayer going to college? Also, who’s they?” Vampire Two scoffed as he poked through the undergrowth. “I told you we should have brought flashlights.”

“You know, _they_ ,” Vampire One said, and waved his hands around. “Our kind. The Alibi room? I went for happy hour and that’s what the underground is saying. The Slayer is here.”

“Our kind,” Vampire Two sneered. “Don’t forget you were human a week ago. Quit talking like you’re Lestat, you freak.”

“Don’t call me a freak,” Vampire One said. “You’re just mad because I’m Mistress Harmony’s favorite.”

“Whatever. You know she’s all over that English guy? You’re about as special as mud. And just as useful.”

“Spike,” Vampire One spat. “What a stupid name.”

Buffy crouched by, her body taut with anticipation. This was getting better and better. Another vampire calling themselves a master – her lips twitched, _Mistress_ and her name was Harmony. There was only one other person Buffy knew with that name, but it couldn’t be _that_ Harmony. But Spike? That only spelled trouble.

“What are we even looking for? This is like looking for Waldo.”

“Mistress Harmony said we’re looking for weaknesses in the ground. Places where they covered up wells or have trapped natural gas.”

“So?”

“Were you asleep in geology class? So sinkholes, you idiot. It’ll lead us to treasure.”

“Geology is boring,” Vampire One grumbled. “So what if I took a nap?”

“You know what’s really boring? Hearing you guys talk.” Buffy revealed herself. “Also, thanks for filling me in on your plan.”

“The Slayer,” Vampire One said, then turned and hit the other vampire on the shoulder. “I told you so!”

His smarter cohort turned and ran. Buffy shook her head. “Why do they think that works?”

She slipped her stake from her waistband and pitched it forward, the stake spiraling beautifully through the air as it found its target. Vampire Two exploded into dust.

“Now for you,” she said and slid another stake into her hand.

The vampire stood still, his gaze wide and frightened. “Where do you keep all those stakes?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Buffy said. She tilted her head to one side. “Actually, I only have to do one of those things.”

It was quick and Buffy stepped back before the dust could waft onto her.

“Okay. Evil treasure hunt. Spike is back, and he’s working with Mistress Harmony. Giles is going to love this.”

The Scoobies convened at Giles’s apartment the next afternoon when Buffy and Willow finished their shared Psychology class. Xander arrived with a box of churros, and Oz showed up ten minutes later.

Buffy filled them in on the previous night’s events. Giles stood up and paced the carpet before going off to another room.

“Spike is back?” Willow said. “Guess we’re going round two with ending the world.”

“Nah,” Buffy said. “He’s not really into that sort of thing. He’s more into the personal enrichment and killing a lot of people while he does it.”

“Oh, like the robber barons,” Willow said, her eyes lighting up. “Only, evil.” She paused. “I mean, only undead.”

Oz squeezed her hand affectionately. “I got what you meant.”

“So Buffy slays him, and we redistribute the evil treasure to the four corners of the world. Or, you know, throw it in a box, bury it with chains and leave a warning note.”

“If only, Xander. You know someone’s just going to discover it later and then we’ll be swarmed with zombies again. Anything that Spike wants, can’t be good for humanity.”

Buffy broke off a piece of churro. “And who’s this Mistress Harmony chick? She can’t be good news either.”

“Oh man, can you imagine if it was Harmony? Her being a vampire?” Xander snickered. “She’d die about not being able to see her reflection.”

“You said they were looking for treasure?” Giles came back into the living room, with a book in his hands. “There are accounts of mystical objects being buried in Sunnydale, as you well know. The Du Lac manuscript was just one example. But other artifacts could be among the treasure Spike’s looking for.”

“Don’t tell me, he’s looking for the Holy Grail.” Xander looked around when no one laughed. “What? That’s a thing?”

“Legends and murmurs, mostly. And you should allow for a margin of fanciful editing by the authors of some of these texts. But some of them have a valid basis in truth.”

Giles set the book down on his coffee table and everyone crowded around it.

“So what are we looking for?”

Giles pointed at an etching of a ring. “I think it’s this. The Gem of Amara. It’s said to grant the wearer invulnerability and protection against sunlight. It only works for demons, however, as it was forged by a demon warlock.”

“Oh this is bad,” Willow said.

“If Spike gets his hands on it, he’d be impossible to kill,” Buffy muttered.

“Precisely. We will need to find it first.”

“And those flunkies gave me the clue. It’s going to be located near or in a sinkhole. Underground tunnels, sewers – all of those are possibilities.”

Oz held up a hand. “I vote research party.”

“Seconded,” Xander said.

“Agreed. Will, can you find a map for that stuff?”

“Sure. Oz can help me too.” Willow smiled.

Oz tapped his nose. “I can smell the gas.”

“Great. Giles and Xander – can you guys look in the books for more clues?”

“Of course, Buff. What are you going to do?”

Buffy cracked her knuckles. “I’m going to see Willy about a ring.”

After Buffy left, Willow nudged Oz. They had set up an impromptu command center at Giles’s dining room table, while Xander and Giles pored through stacks of books on the coffee table.

“What’s up?” Oz looked up from his own book.

“This ring,” Willow said quietly. “If we get to it before Spike does, you know who should get it?”

Oz’s gaze flickered over to Giles and Xander. Then he nodded. “Angel.”

“Precisely. I mean, it wouldn’t do anything for the curse – but Angel could be in the sunlight and he wouldn’t have to be worried about getting hurt, and that would be good. For him and Buffy.”

“But she wouldn’t know him,” Oz said gently.

Willow’s hopeful expression faltered. “No. She wouldn’t. I still don’t get why Xander and Giles think it’s a good thing to keep secret.”

Oz stroked her thumb and waited for Willow to continue.

“I mean, on one hand, I get it. Buffy’s happy. She doesn’t have all those hurtful Angelus memories. But she doesn’t have any good Angel memories either. And Buffy taught me that even when it hurts – _especially_ when it hurts, that it’s important to remember because that’s what makes you stronger.”

“But if she chose…”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think she did,” Willow said. “It goes against everything I know about Buffy. She doesn’t mess with magic. That’s not her thing.”

“It’s your thing.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. I’m hoping it’s my thing, anyway. There’s a group on campus – I’m thinking of joining.”

“You should.”

“There’s just something rotten in the state of Buffy land,” Willow declared. “And I’ll keep quiet about it for now, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it – and then I’m going to fix it.”

“I’m with you. So where do we begin?”

Willow slid her laptop over. “I’ve got the sewer schematics. I’m going to search for the geological survey next.”

It was dead in the Alibi room. Probably because it was still daylight outside, and the bulk of Willy’s clientele preferred to wander in around dusk or later. However, there were still a few lurkers in the corners. A purple-faced demon wearing a chartreuse house dress perched at the bar and pointedly ignored Buffy when she approached.

Willy’s face drained of color when he spotted Buffy.

“Buffy,” he croaked. “What a nice surprise. That _the Slayer_ ,” he said loudly, “is here. What’ll you have? It’s on the house.”

Chairs scraped against the floor and the back-exit door became busy as his patrons made themselves scarce.

Buffy didn’t pay them any attention and instead leaned on the bar. “I hear Spike’s back in town.”

“Spike?” Willy said. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. He’s looking for something. Some Gem of Amaretto, or whatever. And Spike? Never works alone. He’s got a crew, I want to know who and where, or –” Buffy swept her gaze around the bar. “How’s your insurance, Willy?”

Willy groaned. “Come on, Buffy. My premiums are killing me. Last time I hosted a poker night, I had to replace all the glassware when it got rowdy.”

“Yeah, my heart bleeds for you. You know something, Willy. You always do.”

Willy looked shiftily around and jerked his head at the demon. “Sorry, Berenice, but I’m going to have to cut you off.”

The demon looked over at Buffy and made a noise that sounded very much like a ‘hmmph.’ It slithered off the stool and left.

“I’m not even going to touch that,” Buffy said. “So. Gem?”

“There are rumors, you know how it is. Sunnydale, come for the cheap real estate and the really gullible people,” Willy shrugged. “Stay for the unholiness.”

Buffy tapped her fingers against the bar, hard, pointed taps.

Willy cleared his throat. “So word gets out that one of the lost treasures of so-and-so demon really exists and isn’t just a fairy tale they tell little vampires at night. Spike wasn’t the only one who’s been sniffing around. Word gets out – I bet even as far as L.A.” he said, waiting for her reaction.

Buffy raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

“And?”

“So there are multiple teams that have been looking for it. Spike killed most of ‘em, from what I heard. He’s been turning minions right and left to do the grunt work though. Him and that new girlfriend of his.”

“Right, Mistress Harmony,” Buffy said.

“Yeah. Real pretty thing. Said she went to school with you,” Willy said.

Buffy stared at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Willy spluttered.

“Wow. You think you know someone,” Buffy said. “Okay, that’s all?”

“That’s all I know. Honest.”

“Yeah, that’s not a word I associate with you,” Buffy said dryly.

“Swear on my mother’s grave,” Willy said. He put his hand over his heart.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Is she even dead, Willy?”

“Well. No, she’s in Boca, but anyway you know what I mean. Spike said he was getting close though. Rented a lot of drilling equipment.”

“That, I can work with. All right, Willy. See you around.” Buffy hopped off her barstool.

“You won’t be offended if I say I hope not?” Willy said.

Buffy smirked. “Not at all.”


	3. welcome to the neighborhood won't you pull up a chair

“Guys, you are not going to believe what I found out,” Buffy announced as she opened Giles’s door. “It _is_ Harmony.”

Xander dropped his half-eaten churro. Giles tutted and swept down to pick it up with a dishtowel.

Willow burst out laughing.

Giles coughed, but it sounded more like he was covering up a laugh. Xander began to chuckle. “Harmony? And Spike?”

“Didn’t see that coming,” Oz said.

“But seriously, aside from the bizarro worldness of that – Willy actually gave me some useful information. This Amaretto Gem is a big deal in the underworld. Spike killed some teams already, and he rented drilling equipment. That doesn’t make sense in a sinkhole. Wouldn’t it just collapse in on him?”

“The flunkies must have been a distraction,” Willow said. “You said they were new fledglings, right?”

“Oh yeah. Practically factory fresh.”

“They might as well have been wearing red shirts,” Xander said. “The treasure has to be somewhere there’s a strong foundation. Otherwise, why bring a drill? You could just use a shovel.”

“Been watching This Old House reruns again?” Willow teased.

“I’m renovating the basement,” Xander said defensively, then relaxed. “Okay, can I help it that Bob Vila reminds me of a kindlier, less drunk uncle?”

“It’s the beard,” Oz said. “It projects trustworthiness. Also, not to state the obvious, but have we considered crypts?”

“Underground, strong foundation, oh my god, you’re right,” Buffy said. “It probably _is_ in a crypt.”

“Well, no problem there. I’ve made copies of a list of cemeteries, and it’s on my desk. In the black binder labeled Beginning Java Programming.”

Xander pointed at Willow. “And that’s just something you have lying around?”

“Well, yeah. I was going to make my own database and add in notes for Buffy about which cemeteries have the highest percentage of vampires,” Willow trailed off at Xander and Buffy’s expressions. “What? I can’t have hobbies?”

“I for one, love it,” Buffy said. “That’ll be a time saver.”

She turned and looked at Giles. “I’m going to put on my crypt walking shoes, do some more recon and I’ll report back, Giles. It might be late.”

“We can keep him company,” Willow said cheerily.

“I’ll order pizza,” Xander declared from the couch.

“Yes. Well, it looks like a full house,” Giles said. “We’ll wait for you.”

Buffy hummed a jaunty little tune as she made her way back to the dorm. As annoyed as she was with the Spike situation, it was proving to be the distraction she needed from the humdrum. Once she dealt with it, she’d tell Giles about the strange Slayer feelings she’d been having. She had never really thought about how strong she was before. She knew it was stronger than the average person, man, or woman – but it was hard to gauge how much more power she’d gained since she was fifteen.

And if she survived her twenties – maybe she would be able to have that normal life that everyone kept expecting for her.

“Are you sure you don’t get Lottery numbers with that thing?” Cordelia rolled her neck and stared up at the ceiling. “Because it’d be helpful.”

“I told you it doesn’t work that way,” Doyle said irritably. “I have visions, not fortune-telling.”

“Sheesh, _okay_. I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t. I’ve found out something important for his Deadness,” Doyle said.

“You do know I can hear you, right?” Angel remarked as he emerged from the bottom floor. He sat down at his desk. “What do you have for me?”

“Word among the demon community that the Gem of Amara has turned up. Or will.”

“That’s a legend,” Angel said dismissively. “There’s always a sighting of it. It’s like the Elvis of jewelry.”

“These were reliable sources, Angel. And I thought you’d be interested, considering it’s been traced back to Sunnydale.”

Angel’s jaw tightened. “Oh.”

“Yes, and even more interesting is the fellow that’s going after it. Name of Spike.”

“Oh God, _him_?” Cordelia groaned. “And figures it’s Sunnydale. That place is a magnet for freaks.”

She looked hastily at Angel. “Not that you were a freak or anything. I mean, aside from the time you tried to kill us all—”

“Thank you, Cordelia,” Angel said tonelessly. His dark gaze swung over to Doyle again. “What else did you hear?”

“It’s not just Spike who’s hunting for this thing. Other teams have been dispatched to retrieve it. Some of them are backed up by a lot of money.”

“Dangerous?”

“Your common garden variety demon thugs. Some magic users. But I also heard that Spike got rid of most of them.”

“He does love fighting crowds,” Angel said. “Is Dru with him?”

“Didn’t hear anything about that.”

“Then it’s just Spike. Buffy can handle it.” Angel looked down at his paperwork. “Should we put out more ads? I keep on getting inquiries for lost pets. I think people are confused.”

“Uh, Angel,” Cordelia said hesitantly. “You did hear what Doyle said, right?”

“Yes. Buffy can take care of herself. She’s kicked Spike’s ass every time he’s set foot in Sunnydale,” Angel said, a hint of pride coloring his voice.

“You’re not going there?”

“Have you gotten any visions, Doyle?” Angel really did have an unnerving gaze when he was concentrating on you, Doyle thought. He shook his head. “Clear as crystal.”

“Then I don’t have to go. If she – they need help, Giles has my number. He’ll call if it’s serious.”

“Right. I’ll just go get coffee,” Cordelia said brightly. “Come on, Doyle. You’re paying.”

She hustled Doyle out of the office.

Angel sat and stared into nothingness as the door clicked behind them. She would be fine. It was true what he said – Buffy could handle Spike easily, and he didn’t need to sweep in and save her. He hadn’t needed to for a long time, even before he left Sunnydale. Buffy had blossomed, and he grimaced – she would hate that description, and she had grown beyond her potential into a fierce, capable warrior.

She would be fine.

He pulled out the book he had been reading and flipped to the last page. A photograph of Buffy serenely smiling, looked back at him. He traced the curve of her cheeks, his forefinger lingering on her mouth.

Buffy’s punches could send a man through a wall. But her hands could also be tender, soothing away hurts, both physical and spiritual. It had been comforting, talking to her before. Before he ruined the purest joy he had in his long life. Perfect happiness. Afterward, when the flames of hell retreated from his mind, he existed between terror and longing for her touch.

_Safe as houses._

Built across a fault line, perhaps.

Angel shut the book and returned it to his desk drawer. Suddenly he wasn’t in the mood for reading.

“Stupid Spike,” Buffy grumped as she strode through the graveyard. When she vaulted herself over Shady Hill’s iron fence, she landed in a patch of wet mud and grass and splattered it all over her pants and shoes. Grass stains were always a pain to get out of fabric. She pulled out the list Willow had made for her. Shady Hill was the fifth one and hopefully, it had the magic crypt.

Dusk crept across the sky and she hurried through the headstones. They became fewer as she went toward the back of the cemetery. She stopped and looked down. There were the telltale slabs. One, two, three, creepy crypts she counted. The third slab was slightly crooked and she approached it cautiously.

No sound except the emerging crickets enjoying the night air.

She pushed it aside easily and climbed in.

There were footprints, and as she followed them, the tunnel widened and split off into two chambers. Cigarettes and crushed Styrofoam cups littered both entrances. She concentrated and waited for the familiar tingle that signaled vampires. Still nothing.

She hesitated and decided to pick the right chamber.

It smelled overwhelmingly of wax and freshly dug dirt.

Buffy slipped her hand into her pocket and took out Mr. Pointy. Sure, she was just doing recon, but if some vampires ‘accidentally’ ran into her stake, that would be a bonus. Clutching it tighter, she crept toward the faint light that flickered ahead. Candles, most likely. It would explain the wax smell. Spike must have lit it like an MTV unplugged set.

It just figured. Spike wasn’t one for subtlety.

And she wasn’t one for being stealthy.

She burst into the inner sanctum, her fists automatically raised up in a fighting stance. Then they dropped, as she surveyed the wreckage in front of her.

A four-poster bed – a _bed_ – its canopy shredded and hanging crookedly from its posts was the main target. The sheets were torn, and the mattress had a puncture in the middle of it. Half melted nubs of candles were scattered everywhere, and she saw discarded drills lying on the floor, along with piles of dust.

Buffy walked over and prodded her toe in one of the piles. Looked like Spike did some major housekeeping – but where was he? She spotted something underneath the bed and kneeled down to take a better look. It was a porcelain unicorn, broken in half.

A gold coin was next to it.

Buffy looked around and saw the recess in the walls of the crypt. It looked to be the perfect size for a treasure chest. Buffy clutched the gold coin in her fist.

Spike must have found the ring.

She walked back to Giles’s and found Willow and Xander asleep on his couch, while Oz sat on the floor surrounded by a selection of Giles’s records. He acknowledged her with a nod and returned his attention to the Best of Cream and Tango in the Night.

Buffy curled up in Giles’s armchair and sighed. “Spike got the ring. And made off with treasure – I found this,” and she flipped the gold coin at Giles, “left behind.”

He caught it and peered at the engraving. “Hmm. Looks to be from the 1700s. Possibly from when the Spanish came. Just one coin would be a small fortune if he sold it to the right collector.”

“We don’t know how many coins or what else was in that chest. So Spike’s got money and an invincible decoder ring. He could be anywhere now.”

“He still would need to find a collector with that kind of money,” Giles reassured her. “Banks wouldn’t touch it, and billionaire coin collectors are not exactly common for this area.”

“Still. He could sell it off piece by piece. I don’t want to imagine what he would buy with that kind of money.”

“He could buy a property and build a criminal empire,” Oz offered.

Buffy groaned. “God, I hate it when demons get all capitalistic. Whatever happened to just sacrificing virgins and summoning _other_ demons from hell portals?”

“The good old days,” Oz agreed. “It’s always disheartening when demons sell out.”

“Perhaps we could perform a location spell on this,” Giles said. “See if we can track the other coins by it.” He leaned over and shook Willow gently.

“In a minute, Oz,” Willow mumbled. “I’m still tired.”

Giles coughed. “Perhaps you should do the honors, Oz.” He turned and walked toward his kitchenette. “I’m going to make tea for all of us.”

“Can I have coffee?” Buffy said hopefully. She followed him into the kitchenette.

“Absolutely not. It’s almost midnight.”

“I’m not tired, I was actually thinking of going for a quick patrol. Maybe even go to Willy’s and threaten him some more.”

Giles raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah. He folds like a house of cards. I don’t even have to touch him anymore.” Buffy waved her hand dismissively.

“You’ve had quite the day, Buffy. Your studies, tracking Spike, and now this new development. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“If you’re going to follow that with have you done your homework, I’ll have you know I’ve outlined an essay and I’ve finished half of my required reading.” Buffy crossed her arms. “Come _on_ , Giles. I thought you’d be happy. I’m getting this whole balancing thing down.”

“I am happy for you Buffy. I had always hoped you would succeed at school,” Giles said. “I just think you shouldn’t push yourself too hard.”

“Pfft. I could push a tank,” Buffy said. She lowered her voice. “Actually, that _is_ something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Giles listened attentively, occasionally going hmmm and taking off his glasses to clean some invisible stain. Buffy filled him in on the sudden bursts of power she had, including increased speed and sharpened senses. “It’s like I’ve leveled up somehow,” Buffy finished with a flourish. “Is it because I died before, or Slayers just get more powerful as they get older?”

“That’s a very good question. I’ll have to look at what I have available, and then get into contact with some friends at the Council.”

“You still have friends at the Council?”

“Well. More like acquaintances I can trust. But from what I remember – of the Slayers that did exceed expectations, there was a noticeable increase in skills. But that was due to their experience, not necessarily physical strength.”

“Then what? I’m just going through growing pains? Couldn’t it have made me taller?” Buffy pouted.

Giles struggled not to laugh.

The DeSoto looked out of place in front of the elegant white and grey Victorian. It was parked haphazardly, and the front wheels had run into a prized tulip garden. Gauze curtains up and down the quiet street swished in annoyance, and discreet phone calls were made. Private security showed up a few minutes later, lights blazing.

One security guard knocked on the door, while his partner remained in the car.

The door opened, and a pale hand with chipped black nail polish reached out and grabbed him.

The man barely had time to scream, before the door slammed shut.

His partner peeled off. He had seen the face and body of the creature who grabbed his partner. It could be described as man-like, but his glowing yellow eyes and ridged forehead told another story.

Spike wiped his mouth clean, his fingers stained a vivid crimson. He dropped the cooling corpse of the unlucky security guard onto the plush carpet and walked away. He passed by the bodies of the house’s previous occupants, their limbs set in rigor mortis.

“Harm,” he called. “Where are you?”

“I’m upstairs, Spikey,” came the sing-song voice. Spike grimaced. He would have killed her, except he already tried and then had to sweet-talk her into giving him the Gem of Amara. Whoever her sire was, he’d have to hunt him down and stake him for inflicting Harmony onto vampirekind.

“What are you doing up there?” He forced himself to sound pleasant.

“Dressing up, silly. Being a plastic surgeon’s wife sure means a lot of shinies.”

Ah yes. The Chronis couple. The man had been a plastic surgeon, the wife an architect. Spike had been drawn to their house, while Harmony recognized the man from his billboards.

She had asked him to evaluate her appearance before sinking her teeth into his neck. The wife screamed as she watched her husband go limp in Harmony’s grasp.

Spike had taken care of the wife soon after.

Now he had a base of operations, a windfall of money, and for the moment, Harmony. She was possibly the most irritating creature he had ever come across, and he had spent time in convents with Penn and Angelus.

He climbed the stairs. Soon, he thought. Once he’d killed his bastard grandsire and disposed of that irritating blonde thorn in his side – the Slayer, not Harmony, though she was definitely third on his shortlist. Then he could return to South America with a dark song in his heart and prove to Dru, once and for all, he was _her_ Spike.

Sod all the talk of goldfish and sunshine. Dru wasn’t always right.

Harmony greeted him at the top of the stairs. A long strand of pearls wound around her neck and draped between her breasts. They shone faintly against her pale skin.

They were the only thing she was wearing. Harmony posed her arms like a beauty pageant queen.

“How do I look, Spikey?” She cooed.

Spike tilted his head then smiled, his gaze tracing every curve of her body. “Good enough to eat,” he said.

Maybe having Harmony around wasn’t such a bad idea.

Spike pounced.

Buffy had finally passed out around three in the morning. The rest of the children were huddled up in a pile on the couch, Willow leaning against Oz’s left side, while Xander sprawled to his right. Giles covered them up with spare blankets from his linen cupboard and retreated to his bedroom to think. For regular people, it would have been late, but with his recent unemployment, Giles’s sleeping patterns had shifted to the hours he kept as a University student.

There was one other person he knew who would still be awake.

Giles stared hard at his phone.

Angel had come to see him after the hospital debacle, his head bowed and shoulders hunched as if he was coming to confession. He handed Giles a slip of paper, with a phone number written on it.

“That’s where you can reach me. If you need to…for anything important,” Angel said.

Giles felt a rush of sympathy mixed with an ugly thread of satisfaction. Angel had nearly killed his Slayer. Again. It was _good_ that he was leaving.

He pushed up his glasses and took the paper. “Was this the only solution you could find?”

Angel stared at him impassively, then a corner of his mouth turned up. “You don’t care that I’m leaving.”

“I only care on behalf of Buffy,” Giles said. “She loves you. Frankly, I wish she didn’t, but I can not control her heart.”

“No. Instead you’d inject her with poison and leave her to die under orders of the Council,” Angel said, steel entering his voice. “Are we really going to play who hurt Buffy more, Giles?”

“It would still be you,” Giles said. “You, who stalked and murdered, and took pleasure in bringing her grief and not only her ---”

“You haven’t forgiven me,” Angel said flatly.

“You haven’t _earned the right_ ,” Giles said furiously. “You murdered the woman I love and harmed the girl who has been like a daughter to me – perhaps the only daughter I will ever have. I can admit that you’ve been helpful to us these past few months, but twelve hours of torture tends to color my perspective. When I see you, I still see _her_ – and it is difficult for me to think you of as the good side of such a foul monster. So no. I haven’t forgiven you.”

Angel flinched, then said quietly. “Have you forgiven Buffy?”

Giles exhaled.

“I would forgive her everything.”

Giles slid open the drawer of his bedside table and took out the paper.

It curled at the corners and was splattered with tea stains and ink blots where Giles had been a little too overzealous annotating his diaries. Not that it mattered, he had memorized the number.

He picked up the receiver and dialed.

Angel picked up after the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Spike has the Gem of Amara. We think he’s holed up somewhere and will strike at any time. I just thought you should know.”

“He actually found it?”

“Yes. Buffy tracked him to the crypt where it was being kept, and it had been cleared out. He also took off with a possibly large amount of Spanish doubloons –”

“And they’d be worth a mint,” Angel said. 

“Yes,” Giles said crisply. “Just one would set him up with a comfortable lifestyle. Knowing his patterns, I suspect he will go after Buffy, and then after you.”

“That sounds like his M.O. all right. I’ll set up precautions here,” Angel said, then his voice lowered. “How is she?”

“At present, Buffy is thriving,” Giles said. “Willow tells me she’s taken an active interest in her studies, and she has been diligently slaying. In fact, her strength has increased. I’m looking into if this is a normal rite of passage for Slayers.”

“That’s…great. So you don’t need my assistance?”

“Not at this moment. This is just a courtesy call. Though it occurs to me, with that amount of money, Spike –”

“Wouldn’t need to work alone,” Angel interrupted. “He could order mercenaries, but he’s already killed two Slayers. He likes to be hands-on with that sort of thing. Especially since Buffy has beaten him multiple times. He’ll be wanting revenge.”

“Precisely. There is one more thing I have to tell you.”

“What is it, Giles?”

“Buffy made a wish with a vengeance demon. She was granted it.”

Angel tensed. “What did she wish for?”

“We’re speculating, but we think it was to forget you. She does not remember you when anyone brings you up. Not you or what you did as Angelus.”

“Oh.”

Angel shut his eyes, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone cord.

“So if we do need your help and if you run into her –”

“She won’t recognize me. Got it,” Angel said dully.

A pause, and then Giles said, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about that.”

“It’s better this way.”

“Perhaps. Good night, Angel.”

“Goodbye, Giles.”

Angel hung up the phone.

When Cordelia came into work later, she noticed the dumpster outside was filled with broken furniture that hadn’t been there the day before. She shrugged and let herself into the office. Doyle was already there, paging through file folders. He leaned in Angel’s chair, his feet up on his desk.

“You better not let him see you like that,” Cordelia said, as she pushed his feet aside. “You know how grumpy he gets.”

“Yeah, well there’s no other place to sit, so Angel is just going to have to deal,” Doyle said.

For the first time, Cordelia noticed that the office – already minimalist to begin with, was looking even more empty. Gone were the wood chairs that made up their waiting ‘lounge,’ and the desks that she and Doyle shared were missing. In their place stood a battered card table. Doyle saw her looking and nodded. “Grabbed that from my apartment. It’ll have to do until I can find another one off the street or somewhere.”

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “Sidewalk furniture?”

“Not everyone can go to Ikea, princess.”

“Ugh, Ikea,” Cordelia said. “I’ve had enough of flat pack furniture to last my entire life. So Angel decided to do a little redecorating? He should have asked me. This place could do with new curtains, carpet, a sofa, okay, new everything.”

“From what I got out of Mr. Monosyllable, he’s been forgotten by the one person he didn’t expect to forget him.”

“Who?” Cordelia looked around the office, mentally filling in space. If her international superstar career didn’t pan out, she could always be an interior designer. Buying things with other people’s money sounded like a perfectly valid career choice.

Doyle snorted. “Who’dya think? Love of his eternal life?”

“Buffy?” Cordelia said, surprised etched on her features. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. As near as I can tell, there was a vengeance demon involved and poof, no memory of Tall Dark and Broody.”

Cordelia crossed her arms. “Wow. You know this is just like her. Sure, she’s saved Sunnydale a couple of times, and me, but that girl is a mess. Especially when it comes to men.” She tossed her hair dismissively. “So Angel’s sulking?”

“In the dark. I wouldn’t go down there. Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“I had oatmeal,” Cordelia said, wavering.

“Now you can have bacon and eggs,” Doyle said. “You’re wasting away.”

“Pass the eggs,” Xander said, his mouthful of toast. “Buff, you going to eat that croissant?”

She smacked his hand away playfully. “Yes, and those pancakes are for Willow.”

Giles set a plate of steaming, fluffy scrambled eggs in front of Xander. “Remind me again, why are you all here?”

“Because I don’t have a morning class and Xander doesn’t eat breakfast,” Buffy said brightly. “Besides, I helped.”

“Yes,” Giles said fondly. “Thank you, Buffy.”

“It’s not that I don’t eat breakfast,” Xander said and swallowed. “It’s more that Casa de Harris doesn’t make breakfast and I got tired of cereal and pop-tarts.”

At Buffy’s look, he amended, “All the time. Sometimes I like variety.”

“Sure,” Buffy said and rolled her eyes. “Willow called and said she’ll be over in fifteen minutes. She’s bringing juice and some spells she wants your opinion on.”

“Oh, very good.” Giles sat down finally and took the dishcloth off his shoulder. “I looked into my books and while there were some cases of Slayers with increased powers, they were usually a result of spells or boosted adrenaline. Very short term effects. Of course, some of that power was due to survival instincts they already honed. So your idea that it’s because you’re getting older also has some merit.”

Buffy beamed. “Yay for me. But none of them describe this energy?” She gestured vaguely, her hands miming holding a ball.

“It feels like a glowy energy? Like a nightlight or a small sun. Something iridescent. I just feel stronger.”

Xander motioned at the pile of crumbs on her plate. “You’re certainly eating for two—owwww, shutting up, shutting up,” as Buffy kicked him under the table.

“I’ll have to delve further. My friend is going to overnight the necessary books to me. But this is fascinating – we’ll have to conduct some tests.”

“Just as long as they’re not multiple choice,” Buffy said.

“Yes, quite.”

Xander scoffed. “Come on. Even I wouldn’t tell that joke. That’s like a grandfather joke.”

“You’re just mad because I said it first,” Buffy said primly.

“Yeah, not very.”

“If you two are finished,” Giles said exasperatedly. “Can we get back to the topic?”

“I could ask Anya. She’s probably met a Slayer or two before,” Xander said. “Maybe she knows something.”

Giles looked at him in surprise. “Thank you Xander. That’s actually a very good idea.”

It was Xander’s turn to beam.

Willow not only brought juice, but also a stack of books. Buffy took them away before they fell to the ground.

“It smells yummy in here,” Willow said appreciatively. “Are those my pancakes?”

“Giles even has real maple syrup,” Buffy offered. “So what’s the what?”

“I thought about your location spell idea, Giles. It couldn’t work based on a fingerprint, because it’s been touched a bunch of times, and we can’t be certain Spike even touched this particular coin. But I think I found something in the Grimoire of Practical Magiks, that can turn the coin into this sort of wi-fi hotspot. It’ll help us locate the general area where the coins are. And that should be where Spike is, hopefully.”

She looked at them expectantly. “I think the original spell was to find missing socks.”

“That’s…um, yes, very good, Willow.” Giles pinched the bridge of his nose and walked away into his kitchenette. They could hear him muttering, “Back in my day, it was just pentagrams and bat’s head root.”

“You did great,” Buffy reassured her. “Ignore his stuffiness.”

Xander rubbed his hands. “So when do we get to the chanting?”

There had been less chanting than expected. After they helped Giles clean off the table, Willow unfolded a map of the city and placed the coin in the center of it.

“So like I said before, the coin is acting as a hotspot – all the other coins will light up on the map. I factored in that some of the coins might have already been cashed, so there might be some stray points. However, the bulk of the coins should indicate Spike’s location.”

She held out her left hand to Giles and then her right to Buffy. “We’ll amplify the spell by joining our hands together.”

“Is this is an I do believe in fairies deal?” Xander cracked.

“Shh. It helps me focus on the coin,” Willow scolded. She concentrated on the coin and intoned, “Ego quaerere quod perierat, sic ostende mihi lucem, quod ego potest invenire. Dico in spiritu. Facere voluntatem meam!”

The coin levitated off the map and began to spin slowly, gaining speed until it was a blur. It glowed a bright purple, before slowing down and falling onto the map. It shimmered, then faded out of sight completely.

“Um, presto?” Willow said weakly.

Buffy pointed at the map. “Look, it’s glowing.”

A purple light outlined the upper portion of the map. “And will you look at that, it’s in the nice part of town,” Xander said. “Sunnydale Hills. Spike is in Cordy’s old neighborhood.”

“What’s there?” Buffy asked.

“Really big cookie-cutter houses, golfing greens, second and third wives, and lots of mid-life crisis convertibles. That’s what Cordy said anyway.”

Buffy nodded. “Will, I need you to look up any empty houses and missing persons. I don’t really see Spike as the type to rent a place if he can just kill the owner for it.”

“Got it.”

“Giles, I’m going to need weapons. We don’t know how much power this Gem has, and if Spike can fight in the day, there goes my element of surprise. I’m going to have to get that ring off of him.”

“Of course.”

“What can I do, Buffy?” Xander asked.

She smiled. “The most important job of all. You’re going to drive.”


	4. here we are in the darkest place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the violence and just a little bit of gore.  
> The poem Spike quotes is by Michael Field, a pseudonym for the aunt and niece duo of Katherine Harris Bradley and Edith Emma Cooper.

“I don’t see why we have to do this,” Harmony complained as Spike dragged the rolled-up remains of Dr. and Mrs. Chronis into the crypt. “Why can’t the minions do it?”

“Because I’ve sent them out as bait, Harmony,” Spike said. “There are still other retrieval teams out there, and if they’re busy hunting down the minions, they don’t focus on us. Remember?” He stabbed the dirt with a shovel stolen from the caretaker’s shed. A mound of dirt quickly built up as he dug a grave. Once it was to his liking, he shoved the bodies in with his foot.

“Oh. Right. But then why don’t we just leave these guys in the house, and pick another one?”

“Because these are rich people. As useless as your policemen are, they tend to notice when rich bastards turn up dead.”

“I was going to go with him to get my nose done,” Harmony said. “As my graduation present, you know? But then I got bitten and well…”

“And now your whole life has changed,” Spike said. “Yeah, yeah, been there, got the t-shirt.”

“You really understand me, Spikey. Not like all the other boys in high school.” Harmony bounced on her feet. “You know, I always thought Buffy was a freak in high school. Everyone said she was either gay or religious, because of all the crosses she wore – and now I know she’s a freak with superpowers. That’s kind of cool. Too bad she’s the enemy of our kind.”

Spike looked at her sharply. “Did you say the Slayer’s gay? And how did you draw that conclusion?”

“Oh, that was more other people than me,” Harmony said blithely. “It’s because she hung out with Willow all the time and no other girls, and then this totally skanky brunette showed up and anyway, Cordelia said she had a dreamy older boyfriend, but he was kind of not all that into her? I don’t know. So I think she’s not gay _gay_ , but probably bisexual, I guess? And anyway, why would Scott Hope lie? He was a total sweetie in high school.”

“The dreamy older boyfriend is a complete arse,” Spike said, bristling. “You see a tall bloke with a forehead squashed like this,” and he demonstrated by slapping his hands together, “you go the other way. He’ll bore you to death. Oh, and he has stupid hair.”

“Aww, not like my blondie bear,” Harmony said and wound her arms around his neck. “Don’t be jealous. You’re never going to lose me.”

“Brilliant,” Spike said dryly. “Let’s go, Harm.” He tossed the shovel to the ground. “I’ve got phone calls to make, mercenaries to hire. It’s time to pay a visit to dear old Granddad.”

“I didn’t know your grandfather was still alive,” Harmony marveled as they strolled out of the crypt, arm in arm.

“In a matter of speaking,” Spike said.

“Spike, I’m hungry. Can we order a pizza guy?”

“I still don’t understand why I have to leave town,” Cordelia complained. “I’m good at this and I don’t have another audition booked until two weeks from now. This is rent money we’re talking about here.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Doyle and Angel exchanged looks.

“Assassins,” they said in unison.

“I’ll give you rent money,” Angel said. “Just leave until I’m sure it’s safe to come back. I don’t want to have to worry about you getting hurt. Doyle and I – we can handle this.”

“Him?” Cordelia scoffed as she looked at Doyle. “Mr. I-drink-whiskey-and-pretend-its-coffee-before-noon?”

“Irish coffee,” Doyle said without a hint of shame. “Anyway I might not look it, darling, but I can hold my own in a fight. I once punched Bono’s cousin in a pub.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Fine. I’ll go and stay in a cozy B&B in Santa Barbara.”

She held out her hand. “My vacation starts now.”

Angel walked over and pushed his desk to the side to reveal a small wall safe. He crouched and held his hand carefully over the dial so no one could see the combination. He turned the dial and after a few clicks, he reached in and grabbed a small stack of bills.

“Here you go.”

Cordelia looked at the bills disappointingly. “Angel, this is Days Inn in Pasadena money.”

“I know how much you pay in rent, Cordy,” Angel reminded her.

“Ugh. Fine. Also, creepy much?” Cordelia turned on her fine heel and walked out with a sniff.

Angel sank into his chair. “Is she gone?”

Doyle peeked out and saw Cordelia slam her car door shut. “She’s gone.”

“Great. Help me reorganize all these files,” Angel said tiredly. “I have no idea what her system is but it’s not the alphabet.”

“I think she sorts them by age,” Doyle said. “Here, give me that pile.”

Angel handed it over. “Did you really punch Bono’s cousin in the face?”

“Oh yeah,” Doyle said cheerfully. “Or it could have been another Bono. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“You still haven’t told her about the –” Angel motioned at his face.

Doyle’s smile slipped. “No. If all the demons she’s used to running into – except for you, obviously – are evil, how do you think she’s going to react to my Hellraiser impersonation?”

“You should give her more credit. Cordy didn’t even know I was a vampire until almost half a year later.”

“Oddly enough, that does not fill me with confidence, man.”

Doyle methodically lined up file folders as Angel flipped through his stack. “You should tell her sooner than later,” he said. “I didn’t tell…someone what I was until it slipped out at the wrong time.”

“You can say her name. I know it’s your girl.”

“She’s not mine anymore,” Angel said quietly. “She chose to forget me. And I can’t really blame her for it.”

“Now, you don’t know that’s how it went down,” Doyle said. “From everything you haven’t said about her and I’ve just wildly guessed, Buffy doesn’t seem like the type to hold that against you.”

“You didn’t see her face when I left,” Angel said. “I still remember – it was –” he paused. “It was like she understood – and she was giving me permission to leave, and that she’d be okay. And I had to keep that because I would have turned around. I wanted to, so bad. But I had to go. She wouldn’t be able to live the life she deserved if I was there.”

“But?” Doyle prodded gently.

“I missed her every day for the first month. I still do, but it aches a little less. But now – knowing she doesn’t remember anything about me? It’s this new level of pain. I didn’t think there would be.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“I didn’t want her to forget like this,” Angel said. “I was hoping that I’d fade away like a pleasant memory as she grew older, found somebody else – but this, it’s like we never existed. Except here,” and he tapped his temple, and then his hand hovered over his heart. “And here.”

“Then it did exist,” Doyle said. “As long as you’re here, it’ll exist.”

Angel nodded. “When do you think the first assassin will get here? I feel like pummeling something.”

“From my sources, I’d give it a day or so. This Spike is really eager to kill ya.”

“I’m kind of disappointed that he’s not doing it. I expected more from him. I taught him better than that.” Angel shook his head.

Doyle raised an eyebrow. “That is quite possibly the most disturbing thing I’ve heard this morning. I think it’s time for another Irish coffee. You want one?”

“Hell, why not.”

Angel shoved the file cabinet shut.

Giles’s evening tea was interrupted by the tapping on the door.

Followed by insistent knocking.

Giles put down one of his reference books and went to answer.

“Who is it?”

“If you’d open the door, you’d see,” replied a peevish voice.

Giles sighed and opened the door. “Hello, Anya.”

“Xander told me I had to knock before I entered a house,” Anya said. “So I did. What took you so long?”

“I was making a cup of tea.”

“Do you have Oolong? I like Oolong.” Anya looked around his apartment speculatively. “This is much nicer than I thought it would be.”

Giles didn’t trust himself to respond civilly and busied himself with looking through his cabinets. “I’m afraid I don’t have any Oolong. Just Orange Pekoe and Breakfast.”

“Never mind then. You wanted to know about Slayers?” Anya parked herself on Giles’s couch. “I’ve met a few in my day. A lot of them were joyless little soldiers. Very rank and file.”

“They have a sacred duty,” Giles said, bristling.

“Oh yes. Serve a higher power, blah blah – at the end of the day, they’re interchangeable. You get one right after another. That’s when I met most of them – toward the end of their life, or just about. A Slayer’s vengeance…” she paused. “It’s one of the most potent things in the universe.” She shivered.

“What did you do for them?”

“What I could. Some of the wishes were for retribution against neglectful or cowardly Watchers,” Giles flinched at that, “or the Council as a whole. _Those_ were difficult to do, let me tell you. The Council had specific wards set up and they summoned D’Offryn to bargain with him. So I couldn’t do those types of wishes. Then there were the ones who wished they never became Slayers.”

“I see.”

“Unfortunately a lot of those wishes were usually a breath before they died,” Anya said. “The ones that managed to hold on, I swept into pocket universes or sent them back to when they were children. Well, younger children.”

“That’s enough, I think.” Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them furiously.

“Really? I can go then?” Anya brightened.

“No. I meant – what I wanted to know was what do you know about Slayers that grew older. Did their power change?”

“You mean if they were imbued with extra powers and even freakier amounts of strength?”

“Yes. My sources are scant with this type of information.”

“That’s not a surprise. The Watchers wouldn’t exactly welcome a turbocharged Slayer that could overthrow them. It’d go against precedent.”

“They’d lose control of her,” Giles murmured, dread pooling in his stomach.

Anya nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. The Slayers are weapons, and the weapons don’t control who wields them. Anyway, I thought you’d know this kind of thing. They call in reinforcements to…uh, enforce things.”

“I’m starting to think being fired was not such a terrible thing,” Giles said.

“Well sure, if you’re independently wealthy,” Anya snorted. “Your ideals aren’t going to pay the utilities.”

Gile stared at her unbelievingly.

“What? It’s true.”

“Even so, it’s an appalling thing to say.”

“Oh, you humans. Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t make it any less true. Xander is always saying I should watch what I say. I don’t understand. I know exactly what I’m going to say.”

“Because that is the human thing to do,” Giles snapped. “If you want to be a particular kind of human, at any rate. I know you were a demon, but to be human is to think outside of yourself for bloody once.”

Anya looked at him, startled. Hurt seeped across her face. “That was – that was not kind,” she said. “I know that tone of voice.”

She frowned. “And I was human, once. A long time ago. Excuse me if I find it hard to remember all of the social norms of today. I am trying to –“ she bit her lip. “I don’t have anyone to go to for this. Xander and I don’t have these kinds of conversations, and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers about them. His friends do not like me, I can tell.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“You don’t like me either,” Anya pointed out.

Giles sighed. “I am sorry for losing my temper. However, what I said still applies. You have to be aware of feelings other than your own and understand not everyone shares your point of view. Wasn’t that how you did your…job? You could feel these women’s pain.”

“That’s true, but it was a pure feeling. Uncomplicated. They wanted retribution and justice. I didn’t have time to parse every little phrase. Here, there are levels of stuff.” Anya hugged herself. “I am not sure I like the levels.”

Giles patted her on the shoulder. “Sometimes I don’t like them either, but as you said, you are trying. And that is a good place to start.”

“I will help you,” Anya said. “I can tell you are concerned about Buffy, so I will be concerned about her too. Even though she is the Slayer and can take care of herself just fine.”

Giles decided not to press his luck. “Thank you, Anya.”

A nondescript brown sedan drove up to the stately grey Victorian and parked at the curb. Xander hurried out and went around to open the door for Buffy.

She gave him a Look.

“Sorry, reflex,” Xander said. “Cordy always made me open the door for her.”

At the mention of his ex-someone, Buffy’s expression softened. “How is Cordy? Have you heard from her?”

Xander shrugged. “She sent me a postcard from Cancun in September and told me she was doing so much better in LA and asked how my pizza delivery career was going.”

“Nice,” Buffy said. “Glad to hear she’s gone back to her usual self.” She took out a duffel bag and handed it to Xander, who groaned a little under the weight of it. “Yeah well, the joke’s on her. I only deliver pizza on the weekends.”

“What happened to Taco Tony’s?” Buffy surveyed the house and looked for alternate ways to enter. No windows open on the second floor, and she doubted the pipes supporting the gutters were strong enough to hold her weight and the duffel bag.

It would have to be through the front door.

“I’m still working there, but Tony cut back my hours. He had to hire his wife’s cousin, and business hasn’t been great. They don’t need me full time.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said sympathetically.

“Eh. It’s fine. I get more tips from pizza delivery anyway. But hey, upside. I have more time to help you out.”

She smiled at him. “That’s true.”

“So what’s the plan? Are we Die Harding this?”  
“No. We’re going to get inside, I’m going to stake Spike, and you’ll drive us out of here.”

“Simple and efficient. I like it.”

Buffy unzipped the duffel bag and rummaged through it. “Just in case though.” She handed him a miniature crossbow and a bandolier filled with holy water vials. She strapped a knife to her calf and slid some more stakes inside her sleeves. Then she slipped a lighter into her right pocket.

Off Xander’s look, she said defensively, “Fire is the last resort.”

“Whatever you say, Firestarter.”

They walked toward the house.

Spike watched them approach via the security video cam installed on the porch. The Slayer and the droopy haired boy – he grinned. He’d be easy to get rid of and then it would be just the Slayer and him. The way it should be. He glanced down at the ring on his finger. The dark green gem was dull in the dark. When he went outside earlier, every cell in his body preemptively cringed for the burn and when it did not come, he looked at the ring. It gleamed in the sunlight, the gem turning a rich smoky green. It did something to him, filled him with power, not unlike the time he’d drunk from a Slayer.

He wondered how Buffy would taste.

He could already see it – he’d stake Harmony, bundle the Slayer off to South America where she would be offered as a gift to Dru. _Or you could keep her_ , said a traitorous part of his brain. Drusilla’s done with you. Isn’t it time you found something for yourself? Made something infinitely more interesting than a minion?

He pushed that thought away. The Slayer was half of the source of his misery. The other half – his lips curled back into a snarl. Angelus wouldn’t know what hit him. It had cost him half of the treasure, but it would be worth it.

The Order of Taraka was small potatoes compared to Mohra warrior demons. After all, didn’t dear old Granddad deserve the best?

Spike whistled the Funeral March and got to his feet. Behind him, Buffy and Xander’s images flickered in and out on the monitor.

Xander looked around the porch as Buffy prepared to knock. When no one came to the door, Buffy twisted the doorknob hard and it came off in her hand. She pushed the door open with her foot.

Xander grabbed her by the arm. “Buff, look,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicked to the ceiling. A red light blinked.

“Okay, so we get the tape,” Buffy said.

“You know, it’s times like these that I almost miss the mayor,” Xander said. “Now _there’s_ a guy who could cover-up. Not that I want to go back to that. But I dunno, it seems a little early in the evening for breaking and entering _and_ destruction of property.”

“Welcome to my glamorous life,” Buffy said, deadpan. “It’s not all stakes and roses. I bet Willow could hack into their security system later and delete the footage.”

“It’s a good thing you’re on our side,” Xander said. “Because you could totally be a criminal mastermind.”

“Doubt it. I’m allergic to cats.” They crept inside.

The first thing they noticed was the smell. The scent of dried blood had a noticeable tang of rust, and it saturated the air. Xander brought his sleeve up to his nose to muffle the smell, and even Buffy flinched.

“Gonna be sick,” Xander muttered, and he sat down. “God, that is _foul_.”

“You can go and wait in the car if you want,” Buffy said and smiled at him reassuringly. “I can handle it.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “No. I’ve got your back. Who knows what’s waiting for us.”

“Your inevitable doom, duh.”

Harmony appeared her hands on her hips. She grinned at them, her pretty face distorting into that of a vampire’s.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Gotta say, Harmony. Not loving the new look. You’re gonna need SPF 5000 for all those wrinkles.”

Xander snickered.

Harmony’s hand flew up to her face and then she glared at them. “You’re just jealous because I’m going to live forever.”

“Like a cockroach?” Xander pulled out his crossbow. “That’s not a ringing endorsement.”

“Ew!” Harmony stamped her foot and pointed a clawed hand at him. “I always knew you were a gross loser, Harris.”

“I’m going to get Spike,” Buffy said. “Think you can handle it?” Xander nodded grimly.

She ran past him and up the stairs.

“I mean, Cordy was slumming it when she was with you,” Harmony said spitefully.

“Yeah, yeah, see how much I care about your opinion, Deaderella.” He ran at her. Harmony swept her leg and tripped him. He grunted and rolled forward.

He fired the crossbow wide, the stake zooming past her ear and embedding itself into the wall. She laughed. Xander grabbed one of the holy water vials and threw it at her. It exploded on her chest. Harmony screeched, frantically fanning at the smoke rising from her skin. Her hands began to blister.

She snarled and leaped on top of him. She swung wildly at his face and the force of the blow made him jerk back. It felt like he had been hit with a baseball bat.

“Spikey taught me how to fight,” Harmony said. Her voice was saccharine sweet. “Too bad Buffy didn’t teach you.”

Xander gritted his teeth and bucked her off of him. His vision was swimming slightly, but he forced himself to stand.

He staggered over to Harmony and drove her into the wall, his hands wrapping around her throat.

She sneered. “I don’t need to breathe, dummy.”

Xander blearily smiled at her. “Nope. I guess you don’t.” He let her go and then grabbed the stake out of the wall. He slammed it home.

Harmony exploded into dust.

He rocked back and fell onto the floor.

Buffy prowled the hallways, her senses on high alert. It was still and far too quiet, the kind of quiet that happened just before something jumped out at her. “Spike,” she called out. “I know you’re here so why don’t we just get to it.”

She heard it then, a slow clapping from the shadows. Spike emerged from the dark, his hands clasped in a mockery of prayer. She spotted the ring on his forefinger – the gem glinted with an aura of malevolence. She recognized it as evil, forged from a hell dimension and it made her want to scratch and fight and _destroy_.

“As you wish,” Spike drawled. “Hello, Buffy.”

“You just can’t stay out of Sunnydale, can you? Did Drusilla dump you again?”

Something dark passed over his features and his jaw tightened, before he said lightly, “It’ll pass. It always does.”

“Aw. I was really rooting for you…not.” Buffy held up her stake. “Let’s get this over with.”

Spike took the first swing and as Buffy swerved away to avoid it, his other fist punched her firmly in the stomach. She staggered back, the breath knocked out of her. He grinned at her and moved in closer. “You’ve noticed my little friend, yeah? Gives me a nice edge.”

Buffy caught her breath and lashed out in a roundhouse kick. It knocked Spike’s chin back and he grabbed her ankle. Buffy twisted herself out of his hold and brought up her other leg. She swept Spike’s legs out from under him and retrieved the stake hidden in her sleeve.

“Looks like it’s not enough,” she taunted and swung it down at his chest. There was an awful crunching noise as the stake punctured through muscle and bone, then to Buffy’s horror, the wound quickly knitted itself together.

Spike laughed and pulled it out, wincing slightly. “Oh. That tickled,” he said, leering.

He leaped to his feet and punched her in the face.

There was a crack and Buffy rocked back, her vision bursting with excruciating pinpricks. She tasted blood.

The scent of it reached Spike, and his nostrils flared. He licked his lips.

Buffy gritted her teeth, held her breath, and set her broken nose. Hot pain bloomed across her face. It would heal overnight, but she had to survive the fight first.

The next few minutes sped by in a whirl of kicks and relentless attacking, as Buffy tried to box Spike into a corner. He deftly avoided the majority of her kicks and danced away, smirking. He was trying to tire her out, Buffy thought grimly. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” Spike murmured. “[A face flowered for heart’s ease, a brow’s grace soft as seas](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53266/a-girl).”

The sudden softness in his voice unnerved Buffy, along with the way he observed her. Not as an opponent, but as one would gaze upon a precious artifact. It made her skin crawl.

“What’s wrong with you?” She snapped furiously.

His eyes went dark again and he snarled, “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Buffy decided it was time to bring out Mr. Stabby and she unsheathed the knife. Spike’s gaze flickered to it then swept her face.

“Now you’re talking my language.” He lunged for her and sliced her cheek with one claw.

“Why are you so obsessed with my face?” Buffy seethed and swung the knife at him. It slashed through his leather coat and ripped a tear across his red shirt. It sliced a thin line of blood against his white flesh and just as before, the wound healed before her eyes.

Spike laughed happily. “Because it pisses you off. Vain little thing aren’t you?”

Downstairs, Xander crawled through the dust and reached for the phone on the table. His fumbling knocked it off the table and he cursed quietly. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number he’d memorized since sophomore year.

It rang once before the familiar voice came on the line. Xander laid down on the carpet with relief. “Giles? Is Willow there? We need help. I think I need a hospital.”

“Of course. She and Oz are here. We’ll come to get you. How’s Buffy?”

“Upstairs kicking Spike’s ass. I think so. Lots of fighting noises.”

“We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“Great,” Xander said tiredly. “I’m going to take a nap.”

He passed out before he could hang up.


	5. when she comes, she comes just like a daydream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, even more violence and reckless property damage and weapons entering body parts.

The problem was that they were evenly matched. Except Spike had evil superpowers that healed him on the spot. Though her Slayer healing factor was still working, it still needed time. Her body felt like a relief map of bruises and her nose had swelled up. And still, Spike was coming at her. She knew if she turned her back on him, he would kill her. She literally had her back against a wall.

“You know,” Spike said casually, “I’ve dreamed of this. Ever since I saw you.”

“Now is not the time to reminiscence,” Buffy growled. “I kicked your ass then, remember?”

“And now look at you,” Spike continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Beaten down. Bloody – and you smell delicious pet. All alone with no cavalry to save you. It’s my red-letter day.”

He stepped closer and made a show of inhaling. His face reverted to his human guise. “What’s left, hmm? I made it quick with my other Slayers. But you, Buffy,” and his voice was a caress, “I could take my time with you.”

_What’s left. What’s left. Take that all away and what’s left._

It echoed in her brain and she had a sensation of being backed up against the stone, a sword pointed at her face.  
Her attacker was faceless but she had caught the blade between her hands and then it was in her grip and she drew back and stabbed into the dark.

She was the sword now.

“Me,” she said in a voice choked with blood and rage. “It’s always me.”

She grabbed his hands and wrenched upwards, her fingers slipping between his. She heard the pop of shoulders dislocating. Spike bellowed and kicked at her, but it didn’t matter because she had what she wanted.

The Gem of Amara glinted in the palm of her hand.

Spike’s eyes widened. “You – you can’t. If you do, Angel’s goose is cooked. If I die, no one will be able to call off the Mohra.”

Buffy smiled at him. “Who the hell is Angel?”

She pulled out her spare stake and shoved it into Spike’s chest. This time there was no regeneration.

Buffy studied the ring. Now that it was off of Spike’s hand, the Gem’s sheen had dulled and it looked like a cheap piece of costume jewelry. Less forged from the bowels of hell and more like a prize at the bottom of an evil Cracker Jacks box.

She shrugged and put it in her pocket, then made her way slowly down the stairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Willow asked Buffy worriedly. “You look like you got hit with a baseball bat.”  
She looked over at Oz, who was bookending Xander in the van. Giles was shining a penlight into his eyes and Xander complained that he didn’t need an eye exam. “We’re taking Xander to the ER.”

“Nah,” Buffy said. She hugged herself. “Giles can patch me up. He’s used to it.”

“He seems to be fine, just a little woozy. I don’t think he has a concussion, but it doesn’t hurt to get a second opinion from a medical professional,” Giles announced. He made his way over to them.

“I can take Xander’s car and drop Buffy at my apartment. You and Oz can drive him back to pick it up later.”

“Okay. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Willow patted Buffy’s shoulder.

“Giles, stop looking at me like that,” Buffy said. Giles put down the tube of arnica cream and frowned at her. “Like what?”

“Like I’m going to break.”

“Your nose did break,” he reminded her. “And he sliced your cheek.” He taped a row of butterfly bandages across the red angry line.

Buffy winced.

“Yeah, well he’s dust in the wind. Here, a present.”

She reached into her pocket and placed the ring in his palm. “It’s super tacky, but that’s evil for you. Giles, this thing made him really hard to kill. I had to dislocate his arms to get this thing off of his finger.”

Giles grimaced. “Yes, well, it’s a good thing you got it.”

“Is there some kind of spell you could cast on it? Make the power go poof? Or do I have to go to Mount Doom for this thing?”

“You read Tolkien?” Giles said, pleasantly surprised.

Buffy looked sheepish. “Um, if by read, you mean the CliffsNotes and Willow summarizing the CliffsNotes. But hey, that Eowinnie was pretty cool.”

“Eowyn,” Giles said with a laugh. “You’ve done well, Buffy. I’ll check the books my friend sent to see if there are suitable incantations to nullify its power. I can run some tests and if there’s not another option, we’ll destroy it.”

“Cool. Hey Giles?”

“Yes?”

“Can I stay here tonight? If I go home, my mom’s going to freak. She’s convinced herself the evil is less evil at college, which kind of is my fault because I told her I didn’t slay as much on campus. And I don’t want to go back to the dorms without Willow.”

She chewed her lip and looked up at Giles. A dark mask of bruises had formed under her eyes and over her nose and Giles realized that Buffy was afraid. Her fight with Spike must have rattled her more than she let on.

He nodded. “I’ll just get some pillows for the couch and you can take my bed.”

“No, the couch is fine for me,” Buffy protested. “Really. I don’t take up much space.” She lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Giles.”

"You’re very welcome. I’ll make some tea.”

Buffy curled up on the couch while Giles puttered around in his kitchenette. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” she said. “But I can’t remember right now.”

“It can wait for the morning.”

“Okay. Can I have some of those oat cookies?” Buffy yawned.

“Digestives, Buffy. They’re called digestives.”

“Because that makes them sound way delicious,” Buffy said sarcastically. “Why is British food named so weird. I mean, bangers and mash?” She affected a terrible British accent. “Why yes, I will have a roly-poly. Add some of that bubble and squeak, pip pip.”

“I do not sound like that, and those names have more character than your….Twinkies and Cheetos,” Giles said. He shuddered.

“Whatever. You love our donuts.”

“Fried dough is hardly unique to America.”

“Who almost fought me for the jelly ones?”

“Well you do tend to eat more than your fair share,” Giles said.

Buffy burst into giggles. “Hey. Give me a break. I earned those calories.”

“I’ll just remind Xander to buy more jellies next time.”

Buffy’s good mood evaporated. “I hope he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Willow would call otherwise.” He brought in a tray with her tea and a plate of digestives. “Be careful, it’s very hot.”

“Thanks, Giles.” Buffy picked up her cup and blew lightly on it. “This is exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad.”

Buffy woke from a nightmare, her heart pounding and sweat beading her forehead. She gulped in the cool morning air and hugged her knees. She must have made a sound because Giles came down the stairs. His glasses were crooked on his face and he looked like he hadn’t had much sleep.

“Buffy? What’s wrong?”

“Had a nightmare. One of the side effects of almost dying, I guess,” Buffy said. “You look like I feel right now.”

Giles chuckled tiredly. “Yes. Well, I didn’t find anything about nullifying the Gem’s power. Lots of theories and second-hand accounts of deflecting the attacks from the wearer, but nothing credible. It’s too dangerous to have just lying around. I’m afraid we’re going to have to destroy it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Buffy said. “Oh, and Giles, I remembered what I wanted to tell you. Spike told me just before I staked him – that if he died, this Angel guy was in trouble. He sent Moira demons after him.”

“Moira demons?” Giles mentally rifled through his demon Rolodex and ran it through the Buffy translator. “Mohra demons?”  
He became fully awake.

“Yeah, those guys. Are they a big deal?” Buffy stretched and got off the couch. She gingerly touched her face. “How’s my face?”

Giles gave her barely a glance. “This changes everything. We must get this ring to Angel.”

“Again, who is this guy?”

Giles went to the kitchenette. “He is an ally of ours, a vampire – a reformed one,” he said quickly as Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “And…you were involved with him. Yes. Spike sent some of the most powerful demon assassins known to execute him.”

“Involved. How?” Buffy whispered.

Giles cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling as if he could discern the answer there.

“You fell in love with each other, and events were set into motion. And before you ask,” he said hastily, “I rather think it should be Willow who tells you.”

“So this is what Xander meant,” Buffy said. “I thought he was just teasing me. Why don’t I remember this?”

“Ah. We think a vengeance demon was involved.”

“Anya did this?”

“No. Anya no longer has her powers. She is as human as you and I.” Giles reconsidered his statement. “Well, perhaps not exactly as you and I. She was not involved, but she told us she could see the residue of the other demon’s spell on you.”

“Oh.” Buffy made a face. “Residue?”

“I think we should address that issue at later date. Angel will need this ring to defend himself from the Mohra.”

“I’ll bring it to him,” she said quietly. “It has to be me.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah. I mean, I took care of the Spike issue. It’s been all quiet on the Western front otherwise – and if Angel needs some backup, I could do that.”

“I could always do it, or perhaps one of the others –”

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “I can handle it.”

Doyle dropped to his knees and his hands and arms followed soon after. He crumpled on the floor of Angel Investigations. “Jesus. Why did it have to be slime? I’m never getting that out of my jacket.”  
He sniffed and then groaned. “Or my shoes.”

Heavy sodden footsteps squelched across the floor as Angel passed him. He dropped a slime-covered broadsword on his desk. “I know a dry cleaner. Vera on Western. She doesn’t ask questions and she gets out 98% of the stains.”

“Great. I’ll just put this on my expense report for the month.” Doyle sat up and peeled off his jacket. He looked at it sorrowfully. “Me mam gave me this jacket. It was a Christmas present.”

“Give it to me, I’ll be by there later. It should be ready to go in a day or two.”

“Thanks. How’d you get away slime free?”

“I’ve dealt with that species before. Trial and error.” Angel took a soft cloth from his drawer and wiped the broadsword clean. “It just comes down to experience, of being aware of your surroundings. You’ll get it in time.”

Doyle poured himself a cup of water from the office dispenser. “How many more assassins do you think we’ve got left? There was this fella in Echo Park, and then the Fyarls in Melrose –”

“Part-time warlocks in Glendale. That was just insulting. Like they didn’t even try.”

“You are very blasé for someone who is constantly under threat of being killed.”

Angel shrugged. “You were sent to me from the Powers, you had to know that was part of the deal. People trying to kill me is sort of my default state. If not me, it would be …” his lips flattened. “Anyway, if you want to leave, that’s fine.”

“Whoa, whoa there. Who said anything about leaving? I didn’t.”

“Look, I get it. And I’m grateful for the help you’ve given me, but I also understand that no one signs up for danger constantly. The option to leave is always there.”

“And I thought I was an anti-social bastard,” Doyle mused. “Hey man. I know we weren’t expecting the other, but you have your purpose and I have mine. And you could use a friend. It’s lonely to be here without one. Believe me, I know.”

_Do you know what it’s like to have a friend?_

Buffy’s voice had been soft, her usual sarcastic edge blunted. Back then there was so much he wanted to tell her at that moment, but the idea of her disgust made him retreat.

Angel gave him a half-smile. “Thanks.”

Doyle pointed past him. “Speaking of being aware of your surroundings, we’ve got messages.”

Angel pressed the play button, and Giles’s crisp voice filled the office.

“Hello Angel. Sorry about this, but Buffy’s retrieved the Gem of Amara and is on her way to deliver it to your office. Spike sent Mohra demons after you.”

Doyle whistled. “And there’s the answer to the assassins question. Mohra demons are no joke.”

“They’re warriors of the highest caliber,” Angel said flatly. “Nice to know Spike thinks that much of me.”

He sank heavily into his chair and put his head in his hands. “Why did it have to be her?”

“On the plus side, she doesn’t know who you are –” Doyle said, then stepped backward when Angel lifted his head, anguish written clearly on his features.

“I’ll just shut up.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Buffy said to Oz, for the third time. “It would have taken forever on the bus.”

“It’s cool. I have a cousin who does the booking for the Key Club. Angel’s office is on the way.”

He looked over at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s not like I don’t have the room.”

“Your van is like our Mystery Machine,” Buffy agreed. She twisted her seatbelt and leaned back into the passenger seat. “It’s just weird. That I’m meeting him again. And I know it’s not the first time, but it feels that way, you know?”

“I can see that.”

“Oz, what do you think about ….this whole thing. Even when Willow explained it to me, it didn’t sound real. A vampire with a soul? How could that be possible – and that he was my boyfriend, and then he lost his soul when we –” she trailed off.

“I was late to that party,” Oz said carefully. “And it wasn’t something that came up a lot between Willow and me. We had our own issues. But from what I saw from the before and after? He really loved you. And you loved him.”

“At what cost though?” Buffy said bitterly. “I got Miss Calendar killed, alienated everyone I loved, and he almost sucked the world into hell.”

“But you stopped him,” Oz said. “I think that counts for something.”

“Maybe.”

“It counts for a lot, Buffy. And he helped us in the end.”

He gripped the steering wheel. “I haven’t told Willow this, but when I’m a werewolf, I’m just raw feelings. The animal takes over, and I lose everything that makes me, me. When I change back, there’s always that split second fear that I’ve hurt someone. I wish I could control it better.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“Yeah,” Oz sighed. “I think I can understand Angel. About that fear that you could destroy someone you love. Willow loves me despite that risk. I can’t blame you for having – had those feelings too.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.

When Oz pulled up in front of a generic-looking office building, Buffy hesitated before getting out of the van. She turned and looked at him.

“Bye, Oz. And I know I’ve said it before, but thank you. Really.”

“I can come to pick you up later if you want,” Oz offered.

She shook her head and lifted her duffle bag. “That’s okay. Figure I might as well get some court-approved Dad time while I’m here. He can drive me down, or I’ll take that bus.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“Hope you’re right.”

She watched him drive off, then squared her shoulders. It would be okay. Just an in and out operation and then it would be quality time in her dad’s pool. She walked into the building.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the office was how sparse it was. Nothing was on the walls, there were some rickety mismatched chairs and a flat table with months-old magazines stacked in the middle of it. No plants, or anything else that could have injected personality into the room. A big black office chair was swiveled around, its back facing her.

“Hello?”

It turned around slowly to reveal an extra out of a seventies cop movie. She judged the man to be a bit older than she was, and he had a fine-featured face with light blue eyes. He winked at her.

“And how can I help you, miss?”

“Are you Angel?” No one had said anything about Angel being Irish.

The man grinned. “No, you’ll be wanting the tall dark brooding fellow downstairs. I’m Doyle.”

“Doyle,” came a muffled, annoyed voice through the floor.

“Sorry, man. It’d be wrong of me to enjoy all this beauty when I know it’s not for me. Then again, if you’re not interested…”  
Buffy crossed her arms and gave Doyle a Look.

“I’m going to kill you,” said the voice. “I mean that.”

“Nah you won’t. I’m the only friend you have in this world. Well, me and Dee.”

“She’ll kill you for calling her that.”

“Or I might kill you both,” Buffy interrupted. “Look, I’m guessing you know why I’m here. I’m supposed to give this ring to Angel. He can come upstairs and get it, or I’m going downstairs.”

She stomped on the floor for emphasis. There was a loud crack and the plank rose from the floor. Buffy looked at it guiltily. “Oops.”

Doyle’s amused expression fled. “Angel, get your cowardly ass up here.”

Tension filled his entire body. He paced restlessly in his room, every nerve stretched taut like piano wire. He didn’t want to see her. Yet a greater part of him yearned to be in her presence, to be seen by her. He wanted to touch her skin and trace the shape of her beloved face and hear her voice. Even in anger.  
But the thought of seeing nothing in her eyes – he was afraid.

_But if you’re too much of a coward for that, then burn._

The memory of her teary voice shocked him back into the inevitable present. He walked toward the stairs.  
And nearly collided with Buffy, who was taking the steps two at a time. She steadied her hands in front of her, bracing them against his chest.

“Whoa there,” she said. Her face was nearly level with his for once. She raised an eyebrow.

“So you’re Angel.”

He swallowed. Her gaze was wary and reminiscent of their first real meeting.

“Yeah,” he said roughly.

She smiled. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

“Considering how short you are, that doesn’t take much,” he said. He moved past her and walked upstairs.

“Oh goody,” he heard her mutter. “Hot guys are always assholes.”

It brought an unwitting smile to his face.

Angel was like an inscrutable wall, Buffy decided. He sat behind his desk, using it as a barricade between them. He answered all her questions in terse short sentences and stared at her like she was a mirage in the desert. It was disconcerting. And annoying. Definitely annoying. His voice said one thing but his eyes were suggesting something else.  
It was enough to make her want to punch him in the face. Instead, she fished the ring out of her pocket and placed it on the desk in front of him.

It looked even tackier in the light of day.

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Anyway, Giles thought you could use the help. So here.”

Angel picked it up and studied it intently. “Thanks. So why are you here?”

“I’m starting to wonder that myself,” she snapped. “The Mohra demons sound like real heavy hitters. More trouble than you could handle.”

Angel slipped the ring on and held up his hand. “Well if it does what the legends say, I’d be unstoppable.”

“Yeah, Spike thought so too. I still kicked his ass.” Buffy smirked. “And then dusted it.”

A flash of anger flickered in Angel’s eyes before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Spike’s dead?”

“Yes. Very.”

He swallowed. “Good. He should have been dusted years ago.”

Buffy noticed he was gripping the desk tightly, his knuckles nearly white. “Really? Then why didn’t you do it?”

He laughed harshly. “Because he was the only good thing Dru had.”

“Still didn’t stop her from dumping him. Again.”

“Our relationships are complicated,” Angel said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Buffy shrugged. “I wouldn’t. But then again, I don’t understand how you and I were…something.”  
He flinched, then stood up. “I’m not Spike. My team and I will handle the Mohra.”

“According to Doyle, your team consists of you and him. Cordy’s on a wine tour somewhere. So, unless Doyle has some unknown superpowers, I think you guys need a Slayer.”

“Why do you care? I’m a stranger to you.”

“Because Giles cares. Because he kept on saying you’re an ally. And Willow likes you too. I trust their judgment. Even Oz had something to say about it. That makes me care.”

She relaxed a little. “Besides, you hired Cordelia and you haven’t killed her, so that says something for you.”

His lips twitched and then he turned away. “Fine, we’ll handle it and then –”

“I go home. Roger that.”

“Fine –”

The windows suddenly exploded, showering the office with shards of glass and wood. Angel automatically pulled Buffy toward him and dragged her behind his desk.

“Where is the one they call Angelus?” Buffy poked her head up before Angel could stop her.

A demon glowered at her. It wore armor that reminded Buffy of the old Japanese prints her mother had exhibited in the gallery. A red jewel was embedded in its forehead and the whole thing gave off an evil troll doll meets the mutant ninja turtles. It swung a long sword and pointed it at her.

“You are who?”

“I’m hurt. You don’t call, you just break-in and not even one sorry,” Buffy quipped. She elbowed Angel away from her and leaped onto the desk. “I’m Buffy.”

She threw a knife and the demon deflected it with its sword. The knife ricocheted and embedded itself into the collected works of Aleister Crowley. Angel groaned.

Buffy somersaulted off the desk and lashed out with her legs, causing the Mohra to fall and drop its sword. She grabbed it before the demon could. Angel ran to her and she tossed the sword to him. The Mohra hissed and lunged to its feet. It caught Buffy off guard and she was forced to go on the defense as the demon whirled and kicked. One armored boot hit her in the shoulder and she crumpled to the floor with a grunt of pain.

Angel was by her side in an instant. She waved him away and motioned at the still advancing Mohra. He nodded and went on the offensive, driving the demon into a corner. He felt the rush of pleasure at an impending kill and his face rippled and changed into his vampiric form. He thrust the sword into the Mohra’s chest. A neon glow emitted from the wound and the demon dragged its body toward the blade. Angel heard the sticky sound of flesh separating from sinews and bone and Buffy noisily proclaiming her disgust in the background.

The Mohra’s eyes gleamed and it rasped, “The end of days has begun and can’t be stopped. For any one of us that falls, ten shall rise.”

Green blood bubbled and dripped out of its mouth and onto Angel’s shirt. The blood sank through the fabric and he felt his skin tingle. Aside from that, he felt fine.  
He shoved the corpse away in disgust.

“That was disgusting,” Buffy said as she walked up to him. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Yeah. You learn something new every day,” Angel said absently. He sniffed and then looked at her. “You’re hurt.”

Buffy shook her head and rubbed her shoulder. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll go away in an hour or two. Maybe less. I’ve been eating my spinach lately.”

“No, that’s not it. I can smell the blood – the healing. Your face –” he raised his hand to brush her cheek. Buffy jerked back.

“Uh hello? Ever heard of personal space? Also, that is a very gross superpower.”

“You’re wearing concealer,” Angel said, ignoring her. “I can see it.”

Buffy quickly raised a hand to her nose. “Fine. Spike broke my nose. It’s only been a day. Most of the bruising is gone, but I thought it looked a little puffy and …”

“You’re beautiful. Always have been.”

She blinked.

Angel jerked the sword out of the Mohra’s chest. Bright neon green stained the blade. He glanced over at her. “Feel like disposing of a body?”

“You really know how to woo a girl, don’t you,” Buffy said dryly. When he turned away, she fanned herself. He was just trying to get to her, that was all. He probably told every woman he met that they were beautiful. Knock them off balance. That was it.  
Funny how her heart sank a little at the thought.

It was wrong how being in a sewer seemed like second nature to her. While she preferred to stay aboveground, occasionally a vampire had the bright idea to disappear into the sewers, thinking she wouldn’t follow.

That often was their final thought.

Now she was following Angel. He led the way, the Mohra’s corpse hanging over his shoulder. He had hoisted it like it was a sack of flour and weighed just as much. In his other hand, he gripped a large ax.

“That gem really is something,” Buffy said to break the silence. “Seems like it’s doubled your strength.”

“I think so too. I haven’t felt this strong – not since I was…” he trailed off. “Here’s a spot. We can dismember it here.”

“That why you brought your big fighting ax?”

“The guillotine is in the shop.” He chuckled. “What are you planning to do, julienne him?”

Buffy looked down at her second-best dagger. She knew how pointy and sharp it was, but Angel’s dismissive tone rankled her. “At least I’m not overcompensating.”

“Are you suggesting I am?” Angel slid the Mohra off his shoulder and dumped him onto a patch of dry concrete.

“Hey, if the giant manly ax fits,” Buffy replied. “I mean this whole vampire situation – with the fangs and the penetrative aspect of it – it’s all very Freudian.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

“I’m learning about him in my psychology class,” Buffy said. “We’re doing a chapter on Jung next. Willow says it’s really just two men obsessed with sex in different ways, and I don’t think that’s entirely true – but some points could benefit from analysis.”

When he didn’t say anything, it was her turn to say “What?”

His lips quirked slightly. “You’re interested in your class.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Buffy, you know you aren’t. This is great. I knew you would do well in college.”

There was that warmth again. “Yeah, well. It’s been a little slow on the Slaying front lately, and studying isn’t so bad when you are actually interested in the subject.”

“I’m happy for you.”

She was getting too comfortable with the way he looked at her. She cleared her throat.

“Can we just dismember him? I’m going to need to burn this outfit later.”

To her surprise, Angel handed her the ax. “Ladies first.”

“You’re hilarious,” she said as their fingers touched. Her skin tingled and she felt her heartbeat speed up. If Angel noticed, he didn’t say anything.

She grasped the ax strongly and swung downward.


	6. I wish they all could be California Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the fight scenes and demon blood being spilled. Whew. Get yourself an iced tea. You deserve it.

As they climbed out of the sewer, Buffy remembered the Mohra’s last words. “Do you think he was serious about the end of days stuff? I know demons like to talk big, but what if he was telling the truth?”

“I’m more concerned about what he said about the ten shall rise. From everything I’ve read about them, they’re solitary assassins. None of the texts have reported them fighting in groups of ten.”

“Should I call Giles? Get some more eyes on this?” Buffy sounded worried.

“If that makes you more comfortable. But Buffy, I can handle it. I’ve got more books to go through, Doyle is surprisingly good at using a computer, and I know you don’t think much of her but Cordelia is really helpful with research.”

“It’s not that I don’t think much of her,” Buffy said defensively. “It’s that she spent most her time in high school making Willow and Xander miserable in varying amounts, and she kept on calling me a freak. It makes it hard to warm up to her, okay?”

“Okay. I understand.”

They walked in companionable silence for a few breaths before Angel stopped again.

“What is it?”

He tilted his face up to the sun, his eyes shut. “I can’t believe I’m out in daylight. Feels like a dream.”

“Oh. That would be pretty awe-inspiring I guess.”

“You have no idea.” Angel lowered his head and looked at her. His voice was soft. “You were wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

It was so tempting to just lean forward and kiss her. Angel sighed. “You look even more beautiful in the daylight.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away. “I guess I should get going. I told my dad I’d meet him for dinner tonight. And there’s a pool I haven’t checked out.”

“Right. You have to go. I’ll be able to handle it from here.”

“Okay. I just need to go get my bag from your office.” She glanced down at her clothes. Unidentified goo stains splattered across her pant legs and there were several rips in her long-sleeved shirt.

“I know a good dry cleaner that could fix your clothes,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, but my mom told me she’d teach me how to do that. Right after she gives me the secret Summers’s recipe for smothered meatloaf.”

Angel ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “How is your mother?”

So they were doing the awkward small talk bit now, Buffy thought. She almost preferred it when he was being unreasonably hostile to her.

“Do you really want to know or are you out of things to say?”

“A little bit of both,” he admitted.

“She’s fine. Thrilled that I haven’t flunked out of college.”

“Buffy.”

She stopped and turned to him, hands on her hips. “I know. God, it’s a _joke_. I know I’m capable of being smart and doing well and having a normal life. Why does everything have to be so serious with you?”

“You are more than capable. You _are_ smart. And it just…it just is with us.”

His desire to touch her overpowered his need for self-preservation. He reached out and cupped her face tenderly. Buffy did not pull away.

“Angel, who am I to you? Really.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. He thought of all the words he had left unspoken, and how he regretted them. In this fragile moment, he could only tell her the truth.

“You’re the love of my life.”

Buffy felt his words wash through her and the dull ache she had unconsciously carried with her from Sunnydale faded until all she felt was written in his eyes. She lifted her hand to touch his lips delicately.

“There you two are!”

They jerked apart, Buffy whirling herself into a brick wall with a small thud. She winced.

Angel ran a hand through his hair and glared at the figure as it drew closer. Doyle stopped in front of them, panting. “I’ve been looking all over for you two.”

He leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath. “I saw something.”

Angel forgot his irritation. “What did you see?”

“The Mohra,” Doyle said. “It regenerated itself. It’s at the Lone Bar.” He pulled out a slim volume from his jacket and handed it to Angel. “I folded the corner.”

“This is a hundred-year-old book, Doyle.”

“Now you sound like Giles,” Buffy said, then shuddered. “And now I’m never going to think about that again.”

Angel opened the book and read the passage Doyle had helpfully underlined – “Mohra demon. Dark Assassins have sworn to destroy warriors of light. Needs vast quantities of salt to survive. Veins run with the blood of Eternity.”

“That’s the thing,” Doyle said. “If it keeps regenerating itself –”

“It won’t stop,” Angel said grimly. “Not until we’re dead.”

“That’s what it must have meant by one of us falls, ten will rise mumbo jumbo,” Buffy said. She paced the sidewalk, agitated. “I’ve never fought something immortal – everything dies. This demon has to have an Achilles’ elbow or something.”

“There is something –“ Doyle took the book back. “To kill the beast one must bring darkness to 1000 eyes.”

“Okay, it did not have that many eyes,” Buffy said. “Unless they’re underneath the armor, in which case, _eww_.”

“I only saw the two,” Angel said. “Maybe it’s a riddle.”

“Looks like I better stick around. If it’s regenerating, it’s probably stronger too. I’m going to have reload on weapons. Let’s go,” Buffy said matter-of-factly.

Doyle looked at her in admiration and then at Angel. “A regular Boadicea you’ve got there, Angel.”

Buffy tapped him on the chest as she walked by. “He hasn’t got anything.”

Doyle grunted.

Angel shook his head. “Why do I pay you?”

“Because you’re a righteous man. Also, I think I might have a collapsed rib.”

After perusing Angel’s surprisingly extensive armory, Buffy chose a sword. She missed seeing the pained expression on Angel’s face as he watched her swing it experimentally.

“I’m going to go upstairs and wait,” he said.

“Okay. I’ll be up in a few minutes. I need to change my clothes. And call my dad. Is it okay if I do it here?” Buffy placed the sword on his bed and picked up her duffel bag.

Angel swallowed, the sudden vision of Buffy being naked – in his bedroom, no less – searing itself in his brain. He nodded dumbly and then forced himself to walk up the stairs at a normal pace.

Buffy stepped out of his elevator looking refreshed and unreasonably pristine. Her hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail, she strolled up to him wearing a horribly familiar leather jacket.

He couldn’t help the fierce possessive joy that seeing it brought him.

“Let’s go kill this thing,” she said.

He stepped aside with a small bow. “Your chariot awaits.”

Angel drove a convertible, which was kind of ironic for a vampire, Buffy thought – because she always thought convertibles were the perfect cars for basking in the sun. But now Angel could enjoy it, and she noticed the sunlight brought out light flecks of red mixed in his brown hair.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the cooling breeze of salty ocean air. “I haven’t been to a beach in forever,” she sighed.

“Why not?” Angel asked. He expertly pulled up to the curb in front of a typical looking dive bar. Buffy shrugged. “Just haven’t had the time.”

The bar had a faux wooden exterior, with lawn chairs piled outside and a faded banner declaring “Rated #1 Demon Bar in the Hellfire Times – LA Edition!” hanging lopsidedly from the roof.

The strains of “Margaritaville” came through the ancient speakers.

“This is the Lone Bar?” Buffy said in disbelief. “The Alibi Room is classier.”

“This place doesn’t get health inspected.” He sniffed the air. “It’s definitely still in there.”

Buffy slid the sword out of the sheath strapped to her back. “Good.”

Angel nodded and lifted his battle-ax from the convertible’s backseat. “On three?”

“On three.”

They burst through the front door on two.

The Mohra roared when it saw them and immediately slid two wickedly sharp-looking knives from behind its back.

“You will die this time,” it intoned. “Both of you.”

“Gee, where have I heard that before,” Buffy muttered. “You guys need to get a better opening line.”

She ducked to the left as Angel swung the ax to the Mohra’s right.

A clatter of tables and stools crashing to the floor indicated the other patrons fleeing for their lives, including the bartender.

The Mohra was definitely faster and stronger and Buffy found herself sweating heavily as she parried its attacks. She already had gotten some slices in but the Mohra wasn’t slowing down. Angel managed to cleave one of its knives in two. It bore down on him, slashing with the remaining sword and Angel deftly jumped onto a table, forcing the demon to thrust the sword upward, and also not paying any attention to Buffy. She crouched down and swept the Mohra off balance with a brutally timed kick. The sword fell out of its hands and Buffy kicked it away.

Angel jumped off the table and swung his ax at the Mohra’s head. The demon grabbed at the blade and pushed the ax back at him, then rolled to the side. It got to its feet and Buffy punched it in the face.

“Enough!” it bellowed.

Angel narrowed his eyes. “I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough.” He glanced over at Buffy, who nodded and stepped back. In a smooth two-handed move, Angel let the ax go. It flew through the air and sliced through the Mohra’s stomach. It staggered back and collapsed to the ground. Then incredibly, it started to rise up.

“The head, Angel,” Buffy called out. “Aim for the jewel in its head!”

He lunged forward and at the same time, the Mohra retrieved a hidden dagger and struck, stabbing Angel through his hand. He howled in rage and grabbed the Mohra by the neck, then squeezed. His nails dug into its skin, drawing blood. A sudden burning sensation swept through Angel’s body, forcing him to step back and fall to his knees. He was in agony, it felt like lightning scouring his insides. He curled up into a ball, his head pounding.

He vaguely heard the crunch of a fist hitting flesh then darkness claimed him.

Angel awoke to the freezing splash of ice-cold water on his face. He blinked and spluttered. Buffy’s face swam into view, pinched with worry.

“Buffy?”

She relaxed. “Angel. You’re all right.”

He sat up and winced. “I feel like I got one of Doyle’s visions. What happened?” He looked around the bar noting the broken tables and stools. There was no sign of the Mohra.

Buffy held up her hand. It had a blood-stained towel wrapped around it. “I smashed the gem in its forehead and it just sort of melted away.”

“How’d you know it was the jewel that would do it?”

“It was a lucky guess. I thought it might be considered the third eye because it was in the middle of the forehead. And then the jewel had all these facets to it, so they could be a thousand eyes.”

“That’s a very good guess,” Angel said. He reached for her injured hand and cradled it between his own. “How are you?”

“Exhausted,” Buffy admitted. “Um, Angel?”

He focused on the way her hand fit perfectly in his, even wrapped with bandages. Her skin was so warm that he felt the heat in his own hand.

“What?” He stroked the delicate skin at her wrist, felt the flutter of her pulse.

“Have you noticed anything different about yourself?”

“The headache’s gone.” He remembered being stabbed in the hand, but the gem of Amara would have healed it. He looked down and as expected, his hand was whole. He was feeling strange though, and he put his hand on his chest. Then he felt the steady thumping of a beating heart.

He looked at Buffy in wonder.

“I’m alive.”

“Yes,” she said. “The ring won’t work on you anymore.”

“The blood of Eternity,” he murmured. “I must have gotten some of its blood in my wound.”

“And it regenerated...you.”

Angel nodded. “I can’t believe it. I’m really alive.”

“How does it feel?”

“Kind of weird,” he said, then grimaced. His stomach made a distressing gurgling noise.

Buffy grinned. “That can be taken care of.”

After making him stop for a corndog on the boardwalk – “We’re by the beach. It’s mandatory,” Buffy gave him directions to a diner.

“I used to come here with my parents when I was little. They have the best chili cheese fries,” Buffy said.

Angel looked at the menu intently. “What should I order?”

“Anything you want. We should celebrate. Being alive is a pretty big deal.”

Angel smiled at that. “What are you going to get?”

“Grilled cheese with tomato soup, chicken salad, and a side of french fries.”

“Hungry?”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. This is lunch _and_ dinner.”

“I’ll get the club sandwich and chili cheese fries since you recommended them.”

“Save room for dessert,” Buffy said.

“You want dessert after all that?”

She snorted. “Not for me. You. You haven’t tasted anything sweet in like, what? Two hundred years?”

“I might have had an apple in the seventies.”

“And?”

“Crunchy and that’s about it.”

“Well, now you get to experience ice cream.”

Bacon was a revelation. He didn’t care about the lettuce as it tasted like nothing, but the tomato made up for it. The french fries were crispy on the outside but soft and steaming on the inside. Underneath a blanket of rich heavy chili, it reminded him of a beef and potato stew.

Buffy watched him indulgently and smiled. “Good, huh?”

“Very.” His gaze strayed to the empty plates in front of Buffy. She was polishing off the last of her soup with little noises of pleasure. How many times had he dreamed about sitting with her in a public place, sharing a meal? He never tired of watching her eat – in the beginning, she had been embarrassed because he couldn’t taste the flavors. Coffee was the extent of his ‘eating’ habits and it was more of social practice, though the scent of freshly roasted beans became one of his favorites. He had started stocking easily prepared snacks in his home when he knew she was coming to visit.

But the Buffy sitting before him didn’t remember any of that. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to differentiate between them. She was Buffy and that was enough.

Buffy leaned back and patted her stomach contentedly. “Oh,” she sighed. “That was perfect.”

“Is your dad okay with the fact you couldn’t meet him for dinner?”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and her face shuttered. “He forgot actually. His meeting ran over and he said he had to go get drinks with the investors. Or upper management. I forget which.”

“I’m sorry.”

Angel had never met the man, but he had seen pictures of him in Buffy’s room. The pictures showed a pleasant-looking if unmemorable man, his arm draped casually around Buffy’s shoulders, or holding her hand. The idea that Buffy could be a disappointment to anyone made his blood boil.

She shrugged. “Don’t be. I kind of expected it. I’ll just head home earlier than I planned.”

“It’s a long bus ride,” Angel said. “I could drive you back. Or you could stay with me. Just for tonight,” he said hastily. “I’d sleep on the couch, obviously.”

He waited for her refusal.

Buffy looked at him and then gave a small nod. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

He would not embarrass himself by pumping his fists in the air. “No trouble at all.”

After a minor scuffle over the bill – “ _I_ am paying,” Angel said firmly over Buffy’s protests, they walked back to Angel’s convertible.

“Where do you want to get ice cream?”

“The grocery store.”

He turned to her in surprise. “Really?”

“It might sound weird – but I’ve always liked ice cream best when I’m in my comfy clothes and at home.”

“That’s…not weird at all,” he said. “After all we’ve been through today.”

She laughed. “You have a point.”

He drove to the convenience store near Angel Investigations. Buffy grabbed a basket and ran to the freezer aisle. Angel nodded a polite hello at the night cashier and walked down the aisles. He selected a familiar red box of crackers and wandered over to join Buffy. She was crouched in front of the ice cream selection, her finger hovering between choices.

“What’s the verdict?”

Buffy held up two pints. “It’s between Cookie Dough Fudge Mint Chip or a classic French Vanilla.”

“Why don’t you just get both?”

She looked up at him in appreciation. “You’re really getting a hang of this human thing.”

He laughed.

As they walked up to checkout, Angel noticed Buffy had added apples, cheese, and hardboiled eggs in the basket, along with two containers of salt and pepper. He set the ice cream on the counter next to the basket and put in the box of crackers.

Buffy’s eyes lit up. “Hey, those are my favorite crackers. How did you guess?”

“I just knew.”

Buffy opened her mouth then closed it. “Right. We were together. Of course, you’d know what kind of crackers I like.”

He decided to change the subject. “Do you eat those with the ice cream?”

“Oh, those are for you. You’re going to need to eat food, and this can be breakfast tomorrow. Then you can go shopping.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, then smiled. “There’s going to be a tomorrow.”

“Uh, is anyone going to pay?” The cashier interrupted.

He had forgotten the boy’s presence. “I got it.”

“Nope, I do,” Buffy said. She handed the cashier her debit card. He rang up the purchase and bagged it, handing her the bag.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said to her as they walked out. Buffy’s hand had slipped into the crook of his arm, and he reveled in the reassuring warmth of it.

“Of course I did. You paid for dinner and you’re letting me stay over.”

“I was happy to do it.”

“So was I.” She let him and walked around to the passenger side of the car.

He felt the loss of her hand and hurried over to open the door for her. She paused and looked at him, her gaze tracing his features. It was almost like she was touching him. Then she smiled, a lovely, wide Buffy-smile. His heart beat faster.

“Thank you.”

Doyle had left behind a note on his desk. It said since he hadn’t gotten a vision it must mean that he and Buffy succeeded in their mission. Then it went into a suggestive direction that made Angel crumple it up and throw it into the trash before anyone else could read it.

Buffy had already gone downstairs and he gave her a few minutes to change before he entered the elevator. He covered his eyes, just to be sure.

“Are you …decent?” He stepped into his room, his other hand searching for a familiar surface.

“Yes. You can look now,” Buffy said, amused. He dropped his hand and saw her sitting at his kitchen table. She wore a light green nightshirt and matching pajama bottoms, her hair pulled up in a messy bun.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” he said and took the chair across from her. “So how do we do this?”

She held up two spoons. “Well, first off, you could come over from Belgium and get a spoon. I promise I won’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about you,” he said dryly. He got up, walked over, and took a spoon. Buffy pointed at the two pints of ice cream. “You go first since you’ve never tried it.”

“I’ve tried it, I just didn’t think very much of it.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “I thought you said you tried an apple in the seventies.”

“This was before the apple. I tried it in France and it just tasted wet and flat against my tongue.” The girls had enjoyed it, he remembered. Dru had dripped it over Spike and lapped it up, and Darla coyly suggested they do the same. He had been more interested in the fine china and crystal glasses it was served in, and after his family had glutted themselves on the servants, he took the entire serving set.

It was not a fond memory now. He picked up the Chocomint Cookie Dough and studied its packaging.

Buffy took it away from him. “No, see the point of ice cream and pajamas is to ignore the calories. They don’t exist, as long as you have pajamas on.” Her eyes flickered up and down his body, then she cleared her throat. “You need to change.”

He looked down at his black shirt and black pants. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Is that what you honestly sleep in?”

“No, but –”

She made a shooing motion at him. “Pajama rule in effect. Go.”

He went.

A few minutes later, he emerged from his bathroom, dressed in a white t-shirt and soft grey drawstring pants. Buffy had moved to the couch, her feet tucked underneath her. When he joined her, she answered his unspoken question. “It felt like we were having a Scooby meeting at the table. So this is more comfortable.”

“Okay. I’m ready. Which one do you recommend I try first?”

She handed him the French Vanilla. “A classic. You can’t go wrong with this. My mom calls it a palate cleanser.”

He dug a spoon in, and hesitantly tasted it. It was shockingly cold then melted into a rich sweetness in his mouth. He closed his eyes.

“That’s very good.”

“Now try the Cookie Dough. That’s my favorite.”

Where the vanilla had been light and creamy, the second ice cream’s flavor was layered. First, he tasted the chocolate, then the subtle hint of fresh mint, and then the oddly satisfying texture of cookie dough. He swallowed, and then looked at her expectant face.

“That was…a lot. You think it wouldn’t work, all those flavors, but it does.”

Buffy nodded happily. “Yep. Perfect after a night of slaying. Or reading about Existentialism.”

“Or hunting down a Mohra demon and becoming alive.”

She picked up the French Vanilla and tapped his carton of ice cream in a mock toast. “Hear, hear.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

He straightened up from putting the remainder of the ice cream in the freezer. “About what?”

“Your whole living situation.”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still not convinced it’s real.” He walked back to the couch and sat down next to her.

Buffy reached over and pinched his arm. He yelped and moved away from her. “Okay, that’s not what I meant.”

“You feel real. Or is this a Pinocchio thing?”

He spread out his hands. “This has never happened before, Buffy. I’m not talking about me but in the whole recorded history of demonkind. And – I have a mission here. The Powers that Be—”

“Are unpredictable,” Buffy finished.

“Yes. But they guided me here to do a job. And you were part of that decision. You taught me that it matters.”

“Okay, I understand that. But you’re afraid.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m just a human now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to physically fight the way I did. And that leaves me and my friends at risk.”

“And the people you’re supposed to help.” Buffy sighed. “That is hard.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to say that I don’t like being human – it’s like a dream. No, it’s more than I deserve.”

She stared hard at him for a moment, then reached down to squeeze his hand comfortingly. “And you want to give it back.”

“How – how did you know?”

“Because I’ve had that thought – just reversed. If I could just go back to being regular Buffy, without having to worry about the things that go bump in the night. But then I think about all the people who need me. About Willow, and Xander. And Giles. They don’t have Slayer powers, but they still fight. And I felt what it was like to be without my powers and I still won.”

His jaw tightened at the memory of the Cruciamentum. Buffy noticed it and patted his hand. “And you were there.”

“Not in the way I needed to be,” he said.

“Angel.”

She cupped his chin. “This…” she touched her throat. “This was you.”

His mouth went dry, and he nodded.

“Don’t look like that,” she chided him. “I figured I had to have done it for a good reason. And that you were the reason.”

“I almost killed you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I know. Xander was very clear about that when Willow was filling me in.”

“He’s right though – don’t tell him I said that.”

She shook her head. “What you feel about being real? I felt that when everyone was trying to tell me about you. So. You said I was the love of your life. Who are **you** to me?”

“I –”

“Have all night. You can start slow.”

She rested her head against his shoulder.

He laced his fingers with hers and sighed. “We’re going to need more ice cream after this.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I was no one before I met you. I had given up on the human race and I didn’t belong anywhere.”

She listened quietly.


	7. someday is a story and it's the one I'm sticking to

Hours later, his voice hoarse, he stopped when he felt Buffy’s breathing slow. He glanced over and saw that she was asleep. He smiled ruefully and gathered her in his arms, and walked over to his bed. He pulled back the covers with one arm and gently put her in the middle of the bed. He drew the covers over her, and at the last second, impulsively kissed her forehead. She sighed.

He walked back to the now unappealing, lonely couch and plumped up a cushion. He laid down and shut his eyes, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow, he would decide what to do about his life.

The next morning, Angel woke up to the protest of his body. Things ached and he bit back a cry when he stubbed his toe on the coffee table. Limping slightly, he checked in on Buffy, who was still asleep. He changed quickly and walked upstairs to start making coffee.

Doyle was in early, his feet up on his desk, reading a newspaper. Angel walked in and said, “Doyle.”

The younger man nearly fell out of his chair. “Right, sorry, forgot about the no feet rule.”

He stood up and then gawked at him. “Look at you, standing in direct sunlight. The Mohra demon?”

“Yes. I got some of its blood when we fought. Buffy killed it.”

Doyle whistled. “She is a violent little thing, isn’t she? But I like that in a woman.”

“Doyle. I need your help.”

“The human thing? Ah, you’ll get it. It’s like riding a bicycle. Sure, there’ll be aches and pains and functions, but you can handle it. I know someone who can do your paperwork.”

“Not that,” Angel said. “I mean with the Powers. I need to ask them if this is permanent. And if I can give it back.”

“What?”

“I want to give it back.”

Doyle looked to the elevator then at Angel’s face, then at the elevator again. “Excuse me, did I hear that correctly? You want to give back your humanity? What about…her?”

“It’s too easy,” Angel said. “You didn’t know me then, but the manifestation of all evil visited me in Sunnydale and convinced me to kill myself. The First Evil, Doyle. Do you know what that means?”

“That all of my stories from here on out are going to be much less impressive,” Doyle said. “The First Evil?”

“Yes. And it nearly succeeded. But Buffy saved me. And she told me that I had to keep fighting because it’s the right thing to do. I was meant to be here. You and Cordelia are a part of that mission. And I don’t know if I can keep doing that if I’m just human. With regular human strength.”

“Yes, but have you looked at yourself in the mirror yet? It’s not like you’re a ninety-pound weakling.”

Doyle threw a fist at him and Angel easily blocked it and twisted his arm. Doyle went down, gasping. “See? Still strong.”

“You telegraphed that punch,” Angel said. “I mean with demons. The Powers…they speak to you to translate what they want from me. Do you really think they’re just going to let me off and enjoy sunshine and ice cream with no repercussions?”

“Ice cream?”

“And Buffy,” Angel’s voice softened. “She’s still the Slayer. She’s still going to be out there fighting monsters. I don’t want her to worry about if I can hold my own here.”

“Doesn’t she run around with a gang of kids? Regular folk.”

“She does, but –”

“Why do you automatically look for the ending when the story hasn’t been told yet?” Doyle asked.

Angel looked at him in confusion.

“Sorry, it’s something I used to tell my kids. They always wanted to know what happened before I even started the story. You try telling a bunch of eight-year-olds it’s about the journey, not the destination. Anyway, what I mean is. You haven’t even tried living as a human and you’ve already decided you’re not going to, because of this cosmic debt.”

“Because that’s how it is with them,” Angel burst out. “It was a punishment, and then it was atonement and then I destroyed any real chance to have happiness. Do you understand? I haven’t earned this soul or redemption. It would be wrong for me to accept this gift.”

“But you have a chance now. You could live your life with Buffy.”

“And she has a chance to live a life, period. I thought it was an agony that she forgot me. But now – she’s becoming the woman I always knew she would be. She doesn’t have any of that fear anymore. You should have seen her last night, Doyle. There was this shadow following her, and I put that there. But now it’s gone.”

“So you’re feeling guilty. You really can’t take the Catholic out of the man. My gran would love you. If she wasn’t dead.”

“It’s not guilt. It’s acceptance. I love Buffy. I will love her until I die. But this doesn’t feel right. I want to fight by her side but not if I’m going to get her killed looking out for me. Please, Doyle.”

Doyle grumbled. “All right. I don’t like this. But I’ll take you to their messengers. I can’t just waltz you to the Powers that Be. They won’t even see me. They’re on a different plane of existence.”

“Thank you.”

“The Post Office?” Angel looked at Doyle in disbelief. “No, _underneath_ the Post Office,” Doyle corrected. “They’re messengers. Consider yourself as a sort of dead letter that needs direction.”

“Do you know how long it’ll take?”

Doyle shrugged. “As long as it needs to. Stand back.”

Doyle muttered something that sounded like Latin and threw herbs into the ceremonial torches. A great light flared up and Angel disappeared into a portal.

Doyle folded his arms and leaned against the wall to wait.

The inner sanctum was a windowless room, constructed of white marble. It was empty except for a doorway and Angel felt the chill seep into his bones. Another aspect of being human – he was more susceptible to cold and heat.

There was a hum as if announcing a heavenly elevator, and then there were two figures on the threshold of the doorway. The messengers gazed at him with haughty expressions. One was female and one was male. Their skin was pewter and gold with bright blue veins running all over their bodies. They were draped in what he could only assume was the finest silk.

The female spoke first. “We are the Oracles. What business do you have with us, lower being?”

“And what tribute do you bring,” said the male.

“Tribute?”

The female Oracle snapped her fingers irritably. “Yes. You dare not presume to request an audience with us and bring nothing.”

Angel patted his jacket. Damn Doyle for not mentioning this. He found the gem of Amara in his right pocket and held it out.

The male Oracle sniffed. “That is a demon’s bauble and is of no use to us.” He held out his palm and the ring flew into his hand. He squeezed his fist and a bright green glow emitted from his fingers. When he opened his hand, the ring was gone.

“It will be found in another hundred years,” the female Oracle said. “Now what is your tribute?”

Angel looked at his wrist. He offered his antique watch. Like the ring, it flew into the air and the female Oracle caught it.

“A vessel of time,” she mused. “There is so much of it and yet so little at the same time. This is acceptable.”

“Ask us your question,” the male Oracle said.

“What happened to me,” Angel said hesitantly, “is it permanent?”

The Oracles peered at him in unison. “Oh, the blood of Eternity. Yes, it is permanent. You will live a human life with all its joys and sorrows.”

“There are no consequences? No – traps?”

“Do not be so presumptuous. This is a gift that none have experienced before now. Are you not grateful?”

“I am – but I have a mission to complete. How can I – I mean, there is another that I worry about.”

The male Oracle said in a bored voice, “Yes. We can see into your heart. It is the Slayer. What are your worries?”

“Will she die if I stay this way?”

“Of course. She will die as all Slayers do. But she was born to die. That is what humans do.”

“But before her time? Before she gets to live?” Angel found himself on his knees. “If I can extend her life, please, I beg you. I do not need to be human myself.”

“Foolish human,” said the female Oracle, but there was a note of sympathy in her voice. “We can not undo what has been done. We do not have that power.”

“Sister, we have spent too long with this lower being. It is time for him to leave.”

“Please,” Angel said, his voice cracking. “What can I do?”

“You will do what humans have done since time began. You will live. The Powers are not done with you, but the challenge is to continue Their fight, even if the vessel is weak.”

“But –”

The male Oracle said impatiently, “The Slayer is Chosen. So are you, and if she can accept her fate, so shall you. One last warning – if you should choose to become Angelus again, your soul will never be returned to you. This is the price of your humanity. Guard that as fiercely as you would this city.”

“Farewell.”

Before Angel could speak, the world spun into light and he was thrown against a hard wall.

Doyle rushed over to help him up. “That was quick.”

Angel braced himself against the wall. His head was spinning. “How long was I gone?”

“Barely five minutes. What did they say?”

“It’s permanent. I have to live.”

“Are congratulations in order or should I take you to a bar?”

“They said I still needed to continue the fight,” Angel said slowly. “But that if I were ever to become a vampire again, my soul would be lost forever. Angelus would be here to stay.”

“Your evil twin? Yeah, I’ll pass on that one.”

“I have to go back,” Angel said. “To the office.”

“You don’t want to take a breather?”

“She said time – there’s so much and so little of it. I can’t waste another minute.”

“She?”

“One of the Oracles.” Angel pulled out his keys and tossed them to Doyle. “You’ll have to drive. My brains feel like they’ve been through a blender.”  
  


They walked in on an unexpected scene – Buffy perched on top of Angel’s desk, her legs crossed at the ankles listening intently to Cordelia re-enacting her impromptu vacation.

They both looked up when Angel and Doyle walked in.

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Oh my god Angel, you’re alive!”

“I told you that, Cordy,” Buffy said with a laugh.

“Yes, but I thought you meant metaphorically,” Cordelia said dismissively. She flung her arms around him, then stepped back quickly. “Wow. You’re warm. And now you can go to a barber in the daylight!”

Angel touched his hair in confusion. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Oh, that would take all day. Anyway, I brought you guys presents! They wouldn’t let me buy wine, because ugh, not twenty-one, but I got you these mugs!”

“I will cherish it forever,” Doyle said solemnly. “You must be famished. How do you feel about brunch?”

He offered her his arm, and with some hesitation, Cordelia surprisingly let him escort her out of the office. Angel and Buffy both heard her say, “I go on a vacation and Angel turns human? What else are you keeping from me?”

Buffy laughed. “Wow. They are not subtle.”

“Not even a little bit,” Angel agreed.

She tilted her head at him. “So what’s the verdict? Still part of the club?”

“Still human. They wouldn’t undo it.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Conflicted. I still can’t believe it.”

“Angel. You know what your problem is?”

“What?”

“You don’t think you deserve nice things. And I get it. You did horrible, horrible deeds.”

“You missed an extra horrible.”

“Quiet. I’m making a point.” Buffy hopped off his desk and strode up to him. “I wasn’t all the way asleep last night. I heard everything you said, and everything you didn’t say.”

She poked him hard in the chest. “No matter what the Powers that Be dish out, you will always punish yourself ten times worse. Maybe you don’t believe that Angelus is separate from you –”

“He’s not. He’s always there with me.”

“But he’s not all of you,” she said smoothly as if he hadn’t interrupted. “And that? That part is going to be what makes human Angel worthwhile. So what if you don’t have your super strength anymore? You know what you have that you can’t get in any gym?”

“What?”

“Hundreds of years of tactical maneuvers and plots. You know your weapons, your weird demon history. I’m sure you can speak a bunch of languages, and probably some dead ones too. That’s your advantage.”

She shrugged. “You’re human but not only human.”

He stared at her in awe. “How is it that you can see what I can’t?”

She grew embarrassed and stared at her shoes. “When I was coming over here, I just had so many thoughts. Like how could I have been so serious about you, and what that did to my friends, my family? How could I have been so selfish and yet I didn’t remember and how everyone just pretended for my sake. That kind of love – I can’t take that for granted. And then I met you. Again. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, Angel. There’s been so much. And I don’t know how to be that Buffy you loved, and I’m not sure I can be. But I saw you trying and I heard it in your voice. And then I knew. I could forgive that Angel.”

She met his eyes bravely. “And what about you? Do you think I did the right thing?”

“I think that I am very lucky to have you, in any form of memory,” he said. “And that you don’t need to be that Buffy because you are her. And I can never be sorry enough for what I did to you and yours – but I know that I belong here now. And I do what I need to do.” He laid a hand on her cheek. “Like you.”

He leaned forward and their foreheads touched.

“Do you think we can be friends, Angel?” Buffy asked.

“I think we can try.”

“Good,” she breathed, then tilted his face. She brushed a kiss against his lips. Angel’s hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her. “What was that?”

“A friendly kiss,” she said.

“I see.”

He held her tighter and kissed her again.


	8. epilogue

“Boss man’s smiling. Must be Buffy day,” Gunn said. Wesley looked up from cross-referencing his latest acquisition. “Yes. I caught him whistling in the kitchen.”

“Do you think she’ll bring cookies?” Gunn’s voice was hopeful. “I really liked those white chocolate macadamia ones she brought last time.”

“More likely she’s bringing the tenth volume of the Prophecies of Gormenghast,” Wesley said. “Mr. Giles said he’d lend it to me.”

“Well, maybe she’ll bring that too.”

The charm indicating a friendly non-combatant glowed blue at the front counter. Cordelia covered the telephone receiver with her hand. “Angel, Buffy’s here!”

Footsteps pounded down the staircase, then quieted to a more dignified gait.

Angel strolled casually into the lobby. “I’ll get the door then.”

Fred giggled as he passed. “Aw, he’s so cute when she visits.”

Angel smiled as he pulled open the door. “Buffy—”

Buffy looked at him, her eyes dark and solemn. “Angel.”

“Dawn,” a bored voice piped up from behind her. Angel’s brow furrowed.

Buffy moved aside, and a short, scowling teenage girl came into view. She flipped her chestnut hair carelessly over one shoulder and said, “Hey Angel.”

“You remember Dawn,” Buffy said meaningfully. “My _sister._ ”

“What-“

As Dawn pushed her way past him, he was bombarded with sudden memories – Dawn peeking at him and Buffy kissing on Halloween, Dawn bossing him to braid her hair, little Dawnie, her face streaked with tears as he grabbed her by the collar and leered at her with Angelus’s face. Dawn, cold and indifferent when he came back, then pounding his chest with angry fists as she accused him of not loving Buffy enough, and the sound of her slamming the door in his face when he came to visit Buffy in the hospital.

Dawn.

He caught his breath and held onto the doorframe to steady himself. Inside the shouts of “Dawnie!” faded into the distance as he focused on Buffy’s face.

“What was that?”

Buffy smiled sadly. “That happened to me too. Remember the end of days? It’s here. And they’re coming to take Dawn away from me.”

“But she’s not your sister.”

Buffy shook her head. “Not in the normal way. But she still has Summers’s blood. I’ll tell you the whole story. And Angel?”

“Yeah?”

She drew him closer. “I remember,” she said softly. “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020 I Will Remember You Marathon.


End file.
